


The Vanishment of Violet Baudelaire

by vanderlindemorgan



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arson, Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Disbanded VFD AU, F/M, I'm Going To Hell For This, Physical Abuse, Police Are Useless, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Torture, Violaf, i'm calling this the True Crime AU, uhh what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 10:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 100,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25469269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanderlindemorgan/pseuds/vanderlindemorgan
Summary: Violet Baudelaire - young, pretty, incredibly gifted in mechanics, and the soon-to-be next victim of the villainous killer and arsonist Count Olaf. She finds herself captured and at his mercy, but miraculously, he doesn't kill her. What could this mean for Violet? And more importantly, what dastardly depraved things will he force her to do?
Relationships: Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf
Comments: 25
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Do not read this if you are uncomfortable with or triggered by rape, body horror, pedophilia, torture and graphic violence. This story takes inspiration from a number of true crime cases and especially if you're familiar with the cases of Junko Furuta and Jaycee Dugard then you'll have a good idea of what is in store for the rest of this fic. This is your final warning.

In many ways, he never expected to become so entranced by her. In all his years on this wretched planet, for every fire set and every drop of blood that bled down the length of his cold metal dagger, he’d never found himself to be quite so taken with any of his victims. Whether he killed them for vengeance, fun or mere convenience, none of them struck out to him as particularly notable. Sure, there were enemies he had executed that he took great pleasure in reminiscing, remembering their last choking breaths and the pleading mercy in their eyes before he stole their life with one swift move of his knife, or with the sight of their house aflame, blazing brightly against the night sky. Even the ones he didn’t stick around personally to see carry through, the way he imagined their terrified screams as the walls of their flaming home crashed around them, skin melting from bone as smoke filled their lungs. Some would be lucky, and pass out from the smoke inhalation by then. Others would remain acutely aware of every singe and burn inflicted, the horror of seeing their own bones as they were swallowed up by the billowing flames, suffering until their last lingering breath. Those were the ones he liked to imagine most.

Still, there never was a desire to possess any, to whisk them away and mark them as his own doll to abuse. So when he first saw Violet Baudelaire, he didn’t know quite what to do with himself.

The night was overcast, though the moon still shone through the slight parting of the clouds to illuminate the smokey black night. It was mid spring, so while the air was warm during the day and clung to his skin, the nights were still frosty, not wanting to let go of the icy winter winds. Olaf had been planning this for about a month now, and would finally be able to put his plan into action. The rush of adrenaline that came with every arson attack grew within him. Finally, after all these years, he’d be able to extract revenge on the two people who ruined his life with a single poison dart. As two of the most praised and highly respected volunteers, a fire would no doubt be an ironic but fitting end for them. 

He rarely if ever brought one of his accomplices along whenever he set something ablaze, preferring to leave less chance of an eyewitness account incase of apprehension. Though he never was caught - every murder and arson enacted at his hands had gone unsolved, either classed as an accident or permanent cold case by the cities official police department. Though since Beatrice and Bertrand were highly capable and equipt in handling these sorts of situations, Olaf supposed that the extra help would not be detrimental. For this particular night he’d picked out his hook-handed associate Fernald, as they’d known each other the longest and he was the least likely to betray if things went south. It was for this reason that he found himself sitting in the passenger seat of his car as his oldest and most trusted henchperson drove him through the dead silence of the night to the Baudelaire mansion. 

They’d agreed to leave the car a few doors down, tucked away into the side of a small laneway. Fernald was to keep himself alert and on lookout, waiting for when Olaf came back in need of a quick getaway as the smoke climbed its way through the sky, the fire already blazing through the extravagant mansion. He’d taken himself up out of the car and as silent as a shadow made his way to the Baudelaire home. He slipped over the back of the wrought iron fence, immediately shrouding himself in the cover of darkness under a large and very conveniently placed bush. A few of the lights were on, mainly those around the first storey where all of the bedrooms were. It was around 10 at night, so he guessed that the family would be putting themselves to bed right about now. He wouldn’t strike until later, when they were all sound asleep, but he wanted to do some light recon in the meantime and figure out where exactly he should start the blaze. As he snuck along the edge of the fenceline and further up toward the mansion, he was grateful that the Baudelaire’s didn’t have any automatic lights, allowing him to move easily around the property.

He made it up to the side of the house without much of a hassle, and began scoping out the structure. He wanted to find the library, as that’s where he usually chose to start his fires due to the high amount of flammable material present, and his own personal grudge against the volunteers and their devotion to literature to solve all of the world's problems. Looking up over his shoulder, he found himself looking through a window to a darkened room. Glancing around, he quickly deduced what he was looking into was not the library and skulked off, back on his mission to locate the damn room. As he moved silently along the length of the building, he noticed that the lights were beginning to flicker off upstairs, signalling that the family would be retiring for the night. A large set of windows lay ahead of him, bright light spilling out of them like the sun on a warm summer's day. With his luck, that would turn out to be the library and he’d have to wait for whoever was inside to go to bed. 

Olaf positioned himself in the shrubbery underneath the window, easing himself up slightly to snatch a slight glimpse into the room. He saw rows of bookcases lining the walls, confirming his earlier suspicions, and a set of fanciful lounges gathered in the rooms centre. A grand piano stood off the corner, as well as a desk just underneath the aforementioned window. Though what caught his eye was the small figure curled into one of the armchairs, lost in a thick paperback. 

That’s when he saw her.

She was a small girl, probably no taller than 63 inches, wearing a white nightgown that hung around her ankles. Her hair was long, beautiful brown locks cascading from her head down to her forearms, the white fabric of her nightgown glowing warmly against the bright light of the crystalline chandelier. For that one second, he forgot completely about what he’d come there to do, his gaze transfixed by her. He’d been with other women before, always narcissistically being able to boast at his ability to pick up any number of beautiful women he wanted to in front of his associates. But something about this one was different. She was pretty, there was no doubt about that, but there was something more to it. Something almost familiar in a way.

Olaf held his breath for a moment. She looked every bit reminiscent of Beatrice, from the brown hair down to her wide blue doe eyes that were still engrossed in her book, but was still beautiful enough in her own right for him to make the distinction between them. He remembered hearing news some years ago of Beatrice Baudelaire's marriage to Bertrand, an old friend and close confidant of hers for many years. Part of him had been surprised that she'd been able to move on so quickly from Snicket, considering everything that happened, but he hadn't thought a great deal of it - he wasn’t one to overly invest himself in the love lives of his enemies. Bitter memories of such times crept to the surface of his mind, dredging up events that had gone down only fifteen years prior to that very night. 

If she wasn't Beatrice, then he figured that the girl must be one of her children. He'd kept tabs on the Baudelaire’s for all those years, so he knew that Beatrice had three of them: a girl, a boy, and a baby girl. He’d learned all of their names but didn’t care to remember them, finding himself to be utterly entranced by the image of the brunette beauty in front of him. She hadn’t noticed him thankfully, allowing him to properly gaze at her lovely form through the glass. He remembered from his research that the eldest daughter was fourteen, her birthday only being held that past November. 

He felt himself grow hot with hatred, staring at her like that. Despite never interacting with the girl even once, he had already started to harbour a deep burning hatred for her. She was the daughter of two of his worst enemies, and on top of that was breathtakingly gorgeous. Arousement flickered within him as he watched her eyes graze over the pages of her book, still completely lost in whatever fictitious world she immersed herself in. He wanted to know how soft her skin was, have the feeling of her small chest pressed against him as he wrapped a hand around her throat, watching her choke on her own breath. But he wouldn’t kill her. No, something that entrancing shouldn’t be destroyed. He wanted to take her as his own, stake his claim over her body and mind. A helpless little girl at his mercy, ready to submit herself to him. 

Suddenly, Olaf noticed her head shift slightly as she began to look up, and he ducked back down into the shrubbery, careful to not be seen. He stayed that way for a few moments, silently hoping that Violet hadn’t spotted him and had just gone back to her book. Time seemed to stand still for those few moments, and after what felt like an eternity he heard the rustle of curtains being moved as the lights click off and the faint sound of footsteps trailed away. He lifted himself up slowly and after confirming that the room was indeed empty and nobody else was lingering around he breathed a sigh of relief. 

It was then that Olaf resolved that he couldn’t let Violet’s life be extinguished by the fire he planned to set. Smiling deviously, a new plan started to formulate in his head. He knew exactly how he was going to burn down the Baudelaire mansion, and how he would save Violet from the mercy of being taken by the smoldering flames and into his arms, pliant and broken to his wicked and vile whims.

Standing gingerly, he made his way back over the fence and towards the car where Fernald was waiting. That’s when he’d announced a slight change in plans, instructing him to move the car around the front of the lot at his signal, and that’s where he waited now, watching the minutes tick by until he could grab the gasoline and finally extract his revenge once and for all.

Violet had spent the last few hours curled into that little armchair, nestled and lost in her novel. It was a large book, and she’d only picked it up in the last day or so but found herself utterly transfixed by the novel. The story premise was simple enough - a string of missing children around a quiet sleepy town all caused by a demonic killer clown. Seven kids found themselves caught in the middle of the entire mess, and sought to hunt down and destroy the monster that terrorizes their town. Violet didn’t usually gravitate to horror, but seeing the book's size and Klaus constantly recommending it over and over pushed her to picking it up. 

So thoroughly engrossed she was in her book, she scarcely noticed the hours slip by, only stopping for a brief break to get a glass of water. That was probably an hour or two before, though it felt like only ten minutes ago. She was just about to start the next chapter when she began to feel a piercing stare directed at her front. Part of her wanted to shake it off as paranoia, after all, she was reading a horror book and it was late at night. But the feeling of being watched simply wouldn’t leave her, and after ignoring it for a few moments more and trying to read more of the passage, she glanced up from her book towards the window and blinked slowly. She could have sworn she had seen something move out there, and her heart began to race as she stared at the window, refusing to look away. She sat that way, fixated onto the panes of glass until she heard her mother's voice ring out and bring her back to reality. “Violet!”.

Shaking her head, she turned to the door to see her mother leaning against the wooden frame, clad in simple mint green pajamas and staring at her with stern motherly concern. “Yes, mother?” she stumbled, placing her bookmark into the page and setting the novel aside. 

“It’s getting late, Vi, you should really go to bed. You have to be up for school tomorrow, remember?” Beatrice Baudelaire admonished with her soft but stern tone, her eyes weary from the long day. Violet smiled weakly as she picked herself up, grabbing her book in her arms. “Sorry Mother, I just got really distracted. I’ll be in bed in a few minutes” she replied.

Beatrice smiled as she turned to leave the room, her hands lightly grazing over the brass door handle. “Just close up the curtains in here and then go brush your teeth. Goodnight, honey” she instructed before gliding out of the room. 

“Goodnight!” Violet called out as she made her way to the windows and unfastened the long string of golden rope holding the curtains in place. As she moved them across she studied the yard outside intensely, part of her hoping to find what she had seen earlier, another part of her hoping nothing was out there to threaten her safety. She could see no other signs of life out there and Violet sighed in relief, chalking the whole experience up to her being paranoid from the book. She settled the curtains in place and exited the room, clicking the lights off with a flick of her dainty wrist, and began to climb the stairs to the bathroom. Upon arriving, she found her younger brother Klaus to be leaving. They exchanged their casual amicable greetings and parted ways, though not before Klaus thought to tease her about an event that had taken place earlier that night.

“So...who was that on the phone with you earlier?” he asked, his tone sly. Violet huffed and rolled her eyes as she reached into the bathroom cupboards to retrieve her toothbrush. “It wasn’t anyone important, just a friend who wanted to talk” she replied.

“Say, Violet, that friend wouldn’t happen to be Quigley Quagmire? I’ve noticed you two becoming pretty friendly these past few weeks” Klaus pushed, fully aware of how entirely loaded the question was to begin with. Violet blushed slightly and whacked him lightly on the arm. “It’s none of your business. We’re just friends” 

“Right, just friends. That’s what they all say”. 

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating! Go to bed, you dork!” Violet snapped, and at that Klaus began to laugh, giving his sister a hearty goodnight as he stalked off to his own room. She shook her head and sighed, before brushing her teeth. After she had sufficiently prepared herself for bed, she made her way into her room and sunk into the warm duvet, her eyes becoming heavy. As much as she liked to stay up late reading or working on her inventions, she enjoyed a good night's rest just as much as anyone else. And as the thought of the flicker in the window started to leave her mind completely, Violet felt herself sink into a deep sleep.

She awoke a few hours later to the strong smell of gasoline, the scent of which roused her almost instantly from her slumber. Glancing around the room, she saw nothing was out of place - none of her various bottles of cleaning fluid or oil for her inventions had spilt. Violet found herself utterly flummoxed: nothing looked out of the ordinary but she could still swear she smelt the scent of gasoline. She eyed the door, and debated with herself for a moment on whether or not she should go out and investigate. Her curiosity got the best of her and she found herself shuffling out of bed, pulling on a pair of satin black slippers over her feet as she trudged over to the bedroom door, her heart racing in her chest. Pushing down on the brass handle, she poked her head out into the dark hallway to find no sign of any source of the gasoline. Violet slipped out into the hallway, navigating through the darkness to find the edge of the stair banister. She glanced across at the large grandfather clock placed next to the door to her parents room, seeing the time displayed as exactly 12:55 am. 

Suddenly, though the sound was faint, she heard several footsteps downstairs, moving through the house towards the dining room. She squeaked in surprise and stumbled back, her heart practically leaping out of her chest. Gripping the edge of the stairs, her knuckles turned white as she considered what she should do. It wasn’t her imagination, she was absolutely certain that she heard footsteps downstairs. Should she go wake her parents? Violet stood frozen, not knowing what to do, when she started to hear the sound of crackling embers. Alarms bells were blaring in her head as she pressed a cautious foot down the stairs, before hurrying down to attempt to find the source of such noise. 

With every step she took, she felt the air around her getting hotter, the smell of gasoline transitioning to the smell of smouldering black smoke. She heard more footsteps, and a slight crash as she was certain she heard the front door open. Her feet raced forward as she ran into the mansions foyer, yanking the front door open and running out into the garden below. And in one single moment, her fears were entirely confirmed.

The entire right side of her house was up in flames, smoke escaping from out the windows as glass broke and wood crackled. Violet screamed, standing grounded to the spot as she watched the fire tear through her only home. She wondered if her parents or siblings had smelt the smoke, and if she should try to go back in to warn them. She had almost convinced herself that she should when she felt a hand close around her mouth and pull her back, causing her to stumble against the grass. She wanted to cry out but found a sharp blade pressed against her throat, threatening. “Don’t move” a low voice growled out, and before she could even try to get a proper look at her captor she felt herself being hauled away into the night. Her eyes glanced desperately back at her burning home, hoping someone had woken up and were trying to evacuate the rest of her family, praying that they’d burst through the door to see her unknown assailant dragging her away. Nobody did come though, and she started to sob as she was pulled into the backseat of a car.

Violet only managed to catch a brief glimpse of the man who had taken her before he shoved a blindfold over her face. He was tall, had wild salt and pepper hair, one eyebrow and ice blue eyes with a predatory glint. No sooner than her vision had been obscured she heard the man instruct the other person in the drivers to seat to “Hurry up and get us the fuck out of here!”. The car engine was started, and they sped off into the darkness, Violet trying to scream but the sounds of her voice being muffled by the man’s hand. 

He pressed the dagger closer to her throat and leaned towards her, whispering “Now, brat, do exactly as I say and you won’t get hurt. If you scream I won’t hesitate to plunge this blade into your pretty little neck”. Tears blanketed her burning face as she nodded slightly, hoping he’d stop menacing her. Though she couldn’t see it, a wicked grin split across his face as he grasped a hand into her hair. “Good. And don’t even think about trying to escape - me and my associate outnumber you two to one”. 

Violet gulped, focusing on the threatening blade of the dagger being pressed against her throat. She wished she could have kicked and screamed, or tried to get someone, anyone’s attention. She wanted to snatch at the door and tumble out of the car and run towards her home. Her body started to shake as tears continued to fall from her blue eyes, choking on a sob as they sped away into the darkness, and further away from anyone who might be able to save her.


	2. Chapter 2

True to his word, the mysterious man had kept the dagger poised to her throat the entire drive out of there. Violet had stopped trying to struggle ages ago - he was right, she was outnumbered, and with his hand still gripped around her arm she found herself mostly unable to move. The drive felt long, and as she couldn’t see a thing of the world around her she could only guess where she was being taken. Somewhere far from there, possibly further than the Hinterlands that surrounded the city. She’d considered tearing the blindfold off but reasoned that would probably cause her captor to retialite rather violently with his blade, so she’d sat there, the cold nipping at the tips of her fingers as she sobbed to herself. 

Questions ran through her mind at a rapid rate. Who were these men? Why were they doing this to her? Why did they set her house on fire? What did they have in store for her next? Vivid images of depraved and horrific acts manifested in her mind, each becoming increasingly more disturbing the more she thought on it. Her heart hadn’t stopped racing from the moment she’d left her bed, the sound of which was ringing through her ears at that very second. Whatever awaited her when she left the vehicle, it was almost certainly not going to be pleasant. 

She thought of her family, and her heart sank as she remembered the bright orange embers crawling up the side of her home, heat rising as everything she’d ever known went up in a blazing mess of smoke and flames. Violet hoped that some sort of divine intervention had allowed them to escape. Even if she was doomed from here on out, they didn’t have to be. If they survived, they’d come looking for her. Unless they would just presume she perished in the fire, then she’d only have herself to rely on. The thought of which made her blood run cold.

At last, the car had pulled to a stop and they’d reached their destination, wherever that may be. No sooner than they’d stopped she’d heard the slam of a door, presumably from the man who had been occupying the driver’s seat, and she’d soon found the other man’s hands dig into her arm, long dirty nails scratching against her untarnished soft skin as she was pulled up out of the vehicle and onto a gravelly path. 

The dagger was still pointed straight at her throat and she could hear the slam of the car door behind them as she was dragged up a set of stairs onto a porch of some sorts. The sound of jangling keys and the man cursing under his breath filled the air, before he’d managed to unlock the door.

Violet was pulled along with him inside, and out of nowhere she found the blindfold obscuring her vision to be removed. She was at the entrance of a large house, a manor most likely. The first thing she noticed was the absolute state of squalor the place was in: there were empty bottles of wine everywhere, and from the looks of the floor it hadn’t been vacuumed or cleaned properly in a good ten years. Most of the curtains had tears in them, and the windows themselves were caked with dust and grime. Cracks and weird markings lined the walls, and there was an odd sort of musty scent that hung in the air of something that Violet couldn’t quite place, and she scrunched her nose up almost instinctively at it. She didn’t usually find herself to be quite judgemental, but she felt she could safely say that this was the most disgusting place she had ever been in. 

She was only allowed a singular minute to process her surroundings before being unceremoniously shoved forward towards the looming set of stairs before her. Turning around, she saw her captor, the man with salt-and-pepper hair still aiming his dagger at her back, stabbing the edge of it lightly against her thin white nightgown. 

A few steps behind him the man who she guessed to be the driver was lounging off to the side, leaning against the door they’d come through. She noticed him to have a set of hooks for hands, and a large scar across his face. She briefly wondered if she could take them on, before dismissing the idea - she was only a small fourteen year old, and both men were much older than her and were armed. 

Violet felt the blade of the dagger press into her back, urging her forward. “Move, brat. Or are you really that keen to have a knife in your back?”. She didn’t have to hear him speak twice before she began to trudge up the stairs, her body shaking nervously with every step she took. She noticed she was being led into a room off the side of the hallway, shrouded in darkness. She was scared to go in but she knew what would happen if she didn’t, so she’d followed his unspoken directions inside. 

As her captor turned the lights on behind her, she saw it to be some sort of bedroom, though the room only held a dresser by the windows and a set of mahogany nightstands beside the aforementioned bed. The curtains were drawn, though the shimmering rays of moonlight still crept through the moth-eaten holes sprinkled throughout the drapes. 

She almost didn’t notice the absence of the threatening blade to her back but when she did it was too late. Violet glanced back to see her captor locking the set of doors behind them, the key disappearing into the depths of his trouser pockets seconds later. The colour drained from her face and she took a few steps back, wanting to put as much distance between herself and this frightful man as possible. He looked at her with a toothy smirk, the vicious lust plain in his eyes, and Violet immediately felt herself to be akin to Little Red Riding Hood running from the wolf. Gripping her hands to her chest, she mustered up the first of the many questions she poured over on the ride there. “Who exactly are you?”.

He continued to stare at her with those same hungry eyes for a moment more, and Violet felt herself being undressed by his gaze. “I suppose your parents would have never mentioned me. Well, little girl, I am Count Olaf, renowned actor and villain, and someone who you’ll become...increasingly well acquainted with these coming weeks” he replied.

Count Olaf. She’d never heard the name before, much less did she recognise his face from any of her parents soirees. “Why have you taken me? Why did you set the fire? What do you want from me?!” she cried, continuing to back herself away from him. 

“You really don’t know anything, do you? I heard you were supposed to be a smart girl. Clearly my informant was wrong on that account” He laughed at her as he crossed the room over to her. Violet stepped back even further, though soon found herself to be pressed against the wall. She moved to duck away from him but he anticipated her movement, using his leg to block her exit before he pressed his body against hers. She yelped as she felt his leg move between her knees, nudging them apart. 

“What do I want from you, Violet? I would have thought it would be obvious, but seeing as you’re not getting it I’ll spell it out for you: I want to have my way with you, to fuck you, my pretty little brat”. 

She felt her eyes widen as she looked up at him, and suddenly she felt herself to be quite small against his tall stature. “Please, just let me go...I won’t say anything to the police...just let me go” she whispered, her small body trembling in terror. Of all the depraved things he could do, this was the one she’d feared the most, and the one she knew was destined for her the very moment she was dragged off into the night by him. 

Olaf trailed a finger lightly against her jaw, sneering slightly at her words. “Oh, orphan, you know very well that I’m not going to do that. Why would I, after all, when you could just as easily run off and cry to the cops. The last thing I need is law enforcement on my tail. And after all, what’s the use in kidnapping you if I can’t have my own fun?” he explained, digging his hands into her hair, pinning her firmly in place. 

“Don’t call me that” she choked out, to which Olaf simply laughed at. “Why? That’s what you are. Do you really think your frustrating family survived that blaze?”. 

“Don’t say that!” she snapped without thinking, and immediately lived to regret that decision when she felt the back of his hand graze her cheek. She gasped in pain as the sting reverberated through her skull, her skin burning hot where he hit her. “Don’t talk back to me. You have a lot to learn if you’re going to survive here” Olaf sneered at her. 

“B-but...why…”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re a pretty young thing, worthy enough to be desired by such a handsome and brilliant man like myself. Any other woman in your position would count themselves lucky, so if anything, you should be thanking me” he smirked, before finally lifting his body off hers to stand back. “Now, undress”. 

“But...I’m...I’m too young...” she mumbled, her voice warbling in her throat. 

“What was that?”.

Violet swallowed as she attempted to force the words from her throat. “I’m only fourteen...please...”.

Olaf raised his brow at her. “A trivial concern. Now, clothes off, orphan” he commanded, producing the dagger from his pocket and holding it up in front of him so the light would glisten off the blade. “I won’t ask a third time”. 

She looked from him to the dagger he held in front of her and silently complied, grabbing the edges of her white nightgown to pull off. She lifted the garment over her head and lightly tossed it to the floor, heat rising in her cheeks when she found herself standing in only a pair of light blue cotton panties. She could see the look of predatory lust in his eyes as he examined her, causing her to fold her arms over her chest and her hair to fall down across her face the more she curled into herself. 

Olaf grinned at her, and immediately she wanted to run and jump out the window, not caring if she cracked her neck on the ground below. If she was dead, then she wouldn’t have to endure the rest of his treacherous plans for her. With no warning whatsoever, he snatched her around the waist and threw her violently onto the bed, moving his legs over hers to pin her into place. The dagger in his hand was now next to her hips, and in one swift move he tore through her panties. 

Violet wanted to cry out, to scream in terror but found his lips against hers, bruising as he slid his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like about thirty different types of stale liquor, and she almost gagged from the sensation. She could feel his arousement through his pants and wished she were anywhere but there. The corners of her eyes burned with the threat of tears, though she tried to hold them back out of fear that he would become even more brutal towards her. Olaf took no notice of her discomfort, or maybe he did but just didn’t care, as he moved his free hand to unbutton his shirt. 

“Please...don’t do this” She choked out, watching as he undressed himself until he was as bare as she was, discarding the dagger far off to the side of one of the nightstands. He shot her a look of faux-concern as he pinned her arms into the bed, the edges of her wrist already burning from his grip. “Violet, Violet, Violet...your begging is in vain, dear girl” he taunted, before releasing one of her hands from his, spitting into his hand and rubbing it over his member. Violet wanted to hurl from the sight but found herself unable to move, unable to do anything except watch as he prepared to violate her in the most depraved way imaginable.

“If you'd shut up for a moment, then I might go easier on you” he growled, and Violet barely had a moment to process his threat before he abruptly pushed himself into her. She screamed as she felt his cock bury itself deep inside her, feeling a shooting pain as the large girth of his member tore something within her. The tears that she had tried so hard to hold back were pouring free now, trailing down her soft white cheeks. Violet screwed her eyes shut, wanting to wake up back in her room and for this all to be some sort of bad dream. 

She could hear him moan slightly, grabbing onto her hair as if the sound of her pain made it better for him. “Christ, you’re so fucking tight” he muttered under his breath, watching her tears roll down her burning cheeks. 

“Please, Olaf, just stop!” She begged, but he ignored her, thrusting himself into her roughly as she cried out again in agonising pain. He continued to do this, every single time hurting more than the last, as Violet sobbed underneath him, being moved like a doll with no will of her own. She had hoped to pass out entirely, but every single time she felt herself on the edge of that void he pulled her back, thrusting deep and hard into her. Her body had started to become numb, barely even feeling the bruising hold of his hands on her body. She hadn’t even noticed when he’d started to kiss her neck, or when he grabbed at her small breasts with enough force to tear them off. 

There are two kinds of death. If you’re lucky, you find yourself living a long life until one day your body stops working and everything is over in the blink of an eye. But if you’re not lucky, you die a little bit, piece by piece, over and over inside until you realise it’s too late. Even if your body is still very much alive in every respect, your mind has been broken so thoroughly that in that moment you feel like you might as well already be dead. Violet stared up at the ceiling, not wanting to look at him and how he was violating her body. She prayed that this would all be over soon, that he'd leave her alone after this, though she had a sinking feeling that this would not be the last time he placed his hands on her in such a way. 

“Fucking hell, brat” Olaf growled as his thrusts started to become increasingly erratic and more forceful. He grabbed a handful of her hair and leaned over her, pushing her body down into the bedsheets and burying his head into her neck as he convulsed and came within her. Her eyes fluttered open, hoping that it was all over. Olaf had collapsed on top of her, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. Violet lolled her head to the side, relieved that he’d stopped, even though by that time it felt like her soul had left her body entirely.

He began to raise himself up off her, a small sigh of relief escaping her lips the moment she felt his weight leave her. Olaf took her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him, his scowl possessive and dangerous. “Now, you belong to me, Violet Baudelaire” he hissed. 

Violet wanted nothing more than to spit in his face and kick him in the groin at that moment, but she didn’t, finding herself barely able to move. Her body had turned numb, and she felt like a stranger in her own mind, like an outsider looking in on the horrific scene that had just taken place. She knew it was her brain trying to save her by shutting down, and when she finally mustered the strength to move, she lifted herself up to see the insides of her thighs stained with blood and semen. 

Her eyes widened in shock as she scrambled back, her small figure shaking violently. “I’m...I’m...I’m bleeding!” she stammered out.

Olaf stared at her oddly, before rolling his eyes at her. “Don’t you know that’s what’s supposed to happen, you stupid girl? You’re clearly a lot dumber than you look” he spat, taking part of the sheets to clean himself off with. Violet continued to stare down at the bloodstains beneath her, feeling her vision start to become hazy and her head becoming hot and heavy. 

She was so focused on trying to keep herself upright that she didn’t notice Olaf produce a pair of handcuffs from one of the drawers, until he was on top of her once again and dragging her up to the head of the bed. She struggled against him, trying to kick his leg but he merely pinned her back down, seizing both her hands up and moving them up into the handcuffs that he’d fastened around the wooden headboard. 

“Let me go...please, just...let me go…” she pleaded almost pathetically, feeling the cold metal of the cuffs snap around her wrists as he finally released her arms from his grasp. He ignored her for a moment more before regarding her feeble attempts at begging with a snide smirk and an equally mocking laugh. “By all means, keep begging, stupid girl. It’s absolutely invigorating to hear”. 

“You’re disgusting” she hissed, to which Olaf simply sneered at her, picking his clothes off the floor to dress himself. She expected such a remark to garner more of a reaction, but wasn’t about to start scrutinising him for it. Violet knew that one wrong word could mean the difference between life and death. Even though the thought lingered at the back of her mind that she’d much readily welcome death in the face of what Olaf had in store for her. 

Olaf turned to leave, producing the key from the depths of his trouser pocket and fumbling with the lock, only turning his attention towards her once more when the door had been unlocked. “Now, if you don’t want to freeze to death I’d suggest you throw that sheet over you - it does get pretty cold during the nights after all. And don’t bother screaming, the walls are denser in this part of the house” he said before adding on a sarcastic “Goodnight, Miss Baudelaire”, slamming the door shut straight behind him. She heard the click of the lock and the sounds of his footsteps fade into the distance, leaving her alone in the cold.

Violet looked down at the sheets with a twinge of disgust, seeing the evidence of her lost virginity decorate the folds of dusty fabric. She wondered how long it had been since the sheets had last been washed, and shivered as the feeling of the cold room settled around her. The thought of sleeping under such a thing repulsed her to no end, and if she’d been able to she would have reached for her discarded nightgown off the floor, but alas, she was in a compromised position. With no other options for cover, she managed to hike the sheets up over her small naked body with her legs. 

She wondered how late it was at that point, and what had become of her family and her house. She hoped they’d escaped, so that they’d try to find her, that she could hold onto some semblance of hope that she wouldn’t live the rest of her days as Count Olaf’s sex slave. They had to have survived, they just had to have. 

Soon after, she finally gave in to the abyss of darkness and collapsed, her mind finally allowing her a moment of reprieve after the trauma she’d experienced. The last thing she thought of before finally drifting off was _“Why me?_ ”.

Beatrice had awoken soon after she’d first caught a whiff of the smoke. Jolting upright in her bed, she could feel the heat rising around her, the sound of burning wood and rising flames rippling through her ears. Her mind went into overdrive - she’d suspected this would happen, and both her and Bertrand had long since prepared to find themselves victims of an arson attack. It was common practice, and they’d both known the risks they took on being members of the organisation. However, it had been so many years that the threat had mostly slipped their minds. Mostly. 

She turned to where her husband was asleep beside her and shook him, urging him to wake up. Within a minute he was sitting up beside her, his eyes foggy and half asleep as he fumbled next to him for his glasses. “What’s going on? Why have you-” he started, before realising himself what exactly was taking place, causing a serious expression to settle across his face. “Fuck…”.

“Go get Sunny and take her downstairs. I’ll wake up Klaus and Violet. Find any way possible out, use the tunnels even if you have to, just go” Beatrice instructed, already hauling herself out of bed and towards the bedroom door. Bertrand complied instantly, moving after her and breaking into a run towards Sunny’s nursery.

“Klaus!” She shouted as she burst through the doors of her only son's room, seeing him wake up with fear in his eyes, adjusting his glasses. “Mother? What’s going on?”.

“The house is on fire, we need to leave, now!” Beatrice yelled, already rushing towards his bedside to pull him from the covers. Klaus looked at her with a mix of panic and confusion. “Why? How did this happen? Mother-”.

“There’s no time to explain, we need to get out of here” she cut him off. She led him out into the hallway, already beginning to see the flames work themselves up towards her and Bertrand’s own bedroom. Just as well she’d woken up when she did, a few minutes later and they would have both burnt to a crisp. Bertrand came running out of the nursery with Sunny in his arms, the small girl gripping onto her father’s nightshirt in terror. “Go to the tunnel, I’ll be with you shortly” she ordered, motioning for Klaus to join his father and sister. 

“But wait, what about Violet?” he protested.

“I’ll get her now, just please, go!” Beatrice shouted, and to that the trio hurried away, down the stairs, towards a tunnel that had sat unused for years and the children likely didn’t even know existed. The fire was spreading, already engulfing the entire front of the house, and she knew she didn’t have much time. Running forward, she pushed open the doors to her eldest child's room and went to scream out her name but stopped once she noticed Violet’s bed to be empty. 

Fear ran through her eyes as she searched the room frantically, hoping to find any trace of her daughter. “Violet? Violet, where are you?!” she screamed to which she received no reply other than the sound of roaring flames. She turned and went to search through the rest of the upstairs, looking into the bathroom and various other bedrooms as the fire followed her, calling out her daughters name over and over. Eventually, the smoke had begun to reach her lungs, and she knew she’d collapse from smoke inhalation if she stayed any longer. With an aching pain in her heart, Beatrice fled downstairs, miraculously dodging the flames and falling wooden beams to reach the trapdoor underneath the tea room’s coffee table.

“Hurry, down here!” Her husband called out to her as she skirted around the flaming inferno, diving down into the small hole in the ground and falling directly onto her hands, surrounded by stone and several broken light bulbs. 

Klaus had already moved to help his father shut the trapdoor, and when the latch was finally locked and they were safe from the fire, Beatrice allowed herself to properly process what exactly had just happened. She hadn’t found Violet. She couldn’t save her.

“Mother! Are you ok? Are you hurt?” She heard Klaus call out, kneeling beside her with Sunny in his arms. 

“I’m fine...don’t worry about me...the fall wasn’t that bad, it probably looked a lot worse than it actually was” she muttered, unable to shake the despair that blanketed her, the one thought that played over in her mind like a broken record. _I couldn’t save her_.

“Wait...where’s Violet?”.

The minute those words were uttered, whether by Klaus or her dear husband she didn’t entirely know, Beatrice found the world had become very small around her. The darkness was stifling and loomed around her as she looked up at the three surviving members of her family and forced herself to croak out the dreaded words that she had never wanted to say in her life. “Violet...didn’t make it”.


	3. Chapter 3

Violet didn’t sleep well that night. After giving into herself and slipping away into the depths of her unconscious mind, she awoke several times throughout the night. Sometimes it was from the chilling cold nipping the edge of her fingers - despite being covered by a sheet she still found herself cold to the bone, her hands bearing the full brunt of the frosty night. She swore at several points that she’d lost feeling of her fingers entirely, trying to desperately wriggle them in an attempt to circulate blood through her veins.

She wished she had a key, or something to pick the lock with. What she wished more was to be free of that horrid place, to never see Count Olaf’s face again. She wanted to rewind time to a few hours before, when the world was still in order and everything she’d known and loved hadn’t been snatched away from her in a cruel twist of fate. Maybe she could have warned them. Maybe she could have saved them all from Olaf’s treachery. Maybe she could have saved herself.

Eventually, somehow, she’d drift back off to sleep again, only to be reawakened however many hours later by the sound of a car speeding through the street outside. Violet groaned and blinked, her bleary eyes being blinded by the streams of light leaking through the room. She deduced it must have been around midday from what she could make of the sun’s position in the sky through the moth-eaten drapes, though it could be later. The bedroom didn’t exactly contain any clocks.

The chill of the night had vanished, chased away by the arrival of the beaming bright sun and being replaced by the sticky warm humidity of spring. She struggled to kick off the sheet, stopping once she looked down and saw the remnants of Olaf’s assault, purple marks with a slight red tint marring her lithe figure. Deep shame rose within her, a painful pang of remorse resounding within the beat of her heart as she remembered every single moment of the night before. He’d done this to her. He’d burnt her house down, stolen her away in the night, quite possibly killed her family, and for whatever reason he couldn’t have just left it at that. No, he’d held her down and violated her in the cruelest way imaginable.

Tears started to gather at the edge of her eyes the more she remembered. The longer she looked, the more she could feel his hands still on her, the feeling of struggling to breathe under his weight, the way it felt like a knife was cutting her open when he pushed himself inside of her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tore her gaze away from herself. No. Stop. Don’t remember. Just don’t think about it. 

_A knife cutting her open..._

“Stop it” she muttered. Living through the entire experience was bad enough, but to be constantly reminded of it on top of that? She’d surely be driven crazy by her own mind if this kept up. Violet caught a glimpse of the blood stained sheets and turned away, the feeling of metal grazing against her skin reminding her of her restraints as she tried to shift herself into a ball curled up against the headboard. Her tears lightly glistened on her cheeks, dripping onto her knees when she stared downwards at herself. She could still move her body. She was still breathing, and her heart was still beating. She was still alive, though only in the most physical sense of the term. Inside, she felt hollow, like somebody had carved her out and taken everything that had made her Violet Baudelaire, leaving an empty shell in its place. 

Why had this happened to her? What had made her so appealing to Olaf that, rather than spare her the mercy of a fiery death, he felt it necessary to snatch her away and break her into nothing, marking her like a wine-stained dress that she can’t wear anymore, in such a way that for the rest of her days she’ll be haunted by what he’d done to her. And with the fact that she was still trapped there, subservient to his whims and with her life in the palm of his hands, did nothing to ease her away from the edge of her breakdown. What if she never escaped? What if this was her life now? What if one day he grew bored, and decided to “dispose” of her? What would she do then?

She knew it wasn’t helpful to focus on what-ifs, but the entire situation she found herself in felt absolutely hopeless. Even if her family did survive the fire, would they even come looking for her? She prayed with every ounce of her being that they’d seek her out, sooner rather than later so she wouldn’t have to spend another minute in that hell. If they did survive, if she was rescued, then at least she could live the rest of her life, albeit permanently traumatised and constantly wary of every scent of smoke, but safe nonetheless. 

Violet leaned herself back against the headboard, becoming increasingly aware of the cuffs still shackled around her wrist. If only she could move around the room, pick up her nightgown off the floor to cover herself with so she wouldn’t have to see the marks Olaf left. She hated how exposed she was in there, though thankfully she was alone so her embarrassment was largely unjustified. 

Her mind drifted on slowly back towards the events of the night before, much to her dismay. It was getting harder and harder to push the memories away, as her brain was trying to process everything that had happened. She whimpered as she remembered the feeling of pure fear when he’d sliced through her underwear with his knife, the taste of liquor on his tongue. 

_The feeling of his nails breaking her skin, the sound of his voice with every moan that escaped his lips..._

“Shut up! Leave me alone!” She cried out, before realising that she’d spoken aloud by accident. A muffled grunt came from the other side of the door, alerting her for the first time that someone else was there in the house with her.

“You’re finally awake, orphan” a frustrated voice rang out, pulling Violet away from her thoughts. “Who’s there?” she called out, her voice faltering slightly. That certainly didn’t sound like Olaf.

“Just one of Olaf’s henchmen, call me Fernald. He asked me to stand guard outside here, make sure you don’t try to escape and all”.

Violet blinked. She didn’t recognise the name either, though she guessed it belonged to the hook-handed man she’d seen the night before, as she couldn’t recall him ever leaving the house after Olaf had taken her upstairs. “How would I escape? The doors locked” she responded in a soft voice, but still loud enough for him to hear.

There was no reply, prompting Violet to sink back into herself. “Please, let me out. I promise, if you let me go, I won’t tell the police, or anyone else. Please” she pleaded, fresh tears falling from her eyes to replace the ones already dried up on her burning bright cheeks. 

“I’m not about to go against the boss’ orders. You should know that” Fernald replied. She choked on a sob and struggled against her restraints, senselessly hoping that he’d show her some compassion and set her free, though deep down she knew that hope was in vain. “Please, I just want to go home. Why are you helping him anyway?”.

“You’re getting on my nerves, orphan” was his only response, to which Violet started sobbing to herself. She wasn’t prepared to resign herself to a life in captivity, and maybe it was too early to be losing hope, but her despair overtook her in that moment. She couldn’t help herself: the tears had already started falling and they just wouldn’t stop. She let out a small whimpering cry, not caring if the hook-handed man heard her. She just wanted to sink into the floorboards right then and there, dissolve herself and lose consciousness completely. 

She heard the scrape of a chair against the wooden floorboards out in the hallway, and the henchman pounding against the door telling her to knock it off, but she couldn’t stop. Everytime she opened her eyes, she saw her bruised body and remembered everything she’d already gone through, every single moment in time presented to her like a flashback on a film reel. The image of her house up in flames, the feeling of the dagger being pressed against her neck, how much she wanted to cry out for someone to come save her. 

Violet’s attention was drawn back to her surroundings by the sound of a key turning in the lock, and she looked up just in time to see Fernald admit himself through the door, a thoroughly annoyed scowl set on his face. She squeaked in surprise, aware of her lack of proper cover, and clambered up away from him in fright. 

“Let’s see if this will make you shut up for a while” he said, reaching into the pocket of his coat and producing a small vial containing a miniscule amount of clear liquid. Her eyes widened when she spotted the vial, and she started to shake the closer he stepped to her. “What is that? What are you doing?” she demanded.

He gave her a malicious smile before pouncing on her, taking her head with his hooks and forcing her back against the headboard. Violet tried to scream but she found the vial pressed to her lips, its contents spilling down the back of her throat. She sputtered against his hold, trying to cough up the remains of the liquid but found it too late - she’d already ingested most of it. As quickly as it’d begun, Fernald released her from his grip and sat himself up, already tossing the now empty vial back into the pocket of his coat. She looked up at him, the liquid she unwillingly consumed already burning the back of her throat and tongue. It had a strong bitter taste, the sensation of it making her want to spit it back out. “What did you do to me?”.

“There, there, orphan. Just relax a little - you’ll be asleep soon enough”.

She stared at him, her face turning pale when she heard his words. “No...no, please don’t…” she said, trying to struggle pointlessly against the handcuffs. She couldn’t go through this, not again. “Don’t touch me…”.

“Calm down, I’m not going to touch you. Believe me, Olaf was very clear on leaving you to him” he responded, already turning towards the door to make his exit. The affirmation that she wouldn’t have to face another assault relaxed her slightly, though she was still terrified trying to decipher what he’d given her. Her vision started to blur as her eyelids became heavy, her body becoming increasingly more weak and numb with every second that ticked by. 

He had to have drugged her, there was no doubt about that, though she had no clue what with. All she could do in that moment was plead pathetically at her guard, her vision becoming doubled as she watched him ignore her and shut the door behind him, the key turning in the lock afterwards, and she was once again on her own. 

She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her eyes open for, but she fought with herself to stay conscious. She couldn’t let herself pass out, who knows what would happen if she fell unconscious? As much as she never wanted to see his face again, she knew she’d much rather be awake when Olaf inevitably returned. The room around her had started to spin, and her body had become sluggish and slow, and she felt a slight sense of nausea deep in her stomach. She didn’t hold out for much longer, succumbing to effects of the drug and passing out only two minutes later.

Hours later, she’d awoken to catch a glimpse of the sun dipping below the horizon, a heavy feeling of drowsiness lingering over her. Her hands had gone numb against the cuffs, and she still couldn’t entirely feel the rest of her body. The dirty sheets surrounding her had been gathered up and tossed against the foot of the bed rather carelessly, where she also spied Olaf sitting, tracing a knife lightly against the tip of his index finger. 

At the sight of the man who’d raped her, Violet felt herself become sick with worry as she suddenly became more aware of her surroundings. How long had he been sitting there for? What had he been doing that entire time? Did he… . Violet forced the thought from her mind. She didn’t feel any different than before, aside from being incredibly drowsy as a result of being sedated for several hours. There were no new marks on her body, and she didn’t feel any more sore than when she had initially woken up hours before. Had he actually just left her alone? 

“When did you get back?” she asked, still surveying him from a relatively safe distance.

“An hour ago” he answered in a nonchalant tone, as if he wasn’t talking to the person he’d kidnapped and raped only yesterday. She continued to watch as his fingers traced the knife lightly, her feelings of unease only growing the more she watched. “So you’ve just been sitting here the entire time?”.

“What’s it to you, orphan?” he hissed, discarding the knife to his side and shooting her a scowl. She felt herself seize up at this, though she tried desperately to not let it show lest he decided to menace her. _Don’t show him you're afraid_ . _Don’t give him the luxury of seeing you cry again_.

“What’s your plan for me? Are you going to just keep me here forever?” she tested, trying her best to disguise the fear in her voice. Olaf lifted himself off the bed and wandered towards the window, staring off into the distance. “Perhaps. Now that I’ve captured you I can’t just let you go” he said. “And I’m sure you’re already aware of the alternative?”.

Violet gulped. Even without him saying it, and despite being paralyzed by her fear, it didn’t take a genius to know what he was hinting at. “Why did you set my house on fire? What do you have to gain from kidnapping me?” she asked, feeling herself start to shake. 

He looked towards her with a rather tired expression across his face, rolling his eyes. “What do I have to gain, orphan? A great deal many things. Retribution, catharsis, the satisfaction of feeling your cunt around me…” he sneered, putting emphasis on the last sentence in particular. Violet scrunched her nose up at his vulgarity. “You still haven’t answered my other question. Why did you set fire to my house? You said something yesterday that alluded to you knowing my parents - why do any of this?”.

Olaf continued to stare out the window as if he were lost in a memory from many years before. “Your parents and I were...associates, back in the day. We have a long, bitter and intertwined history with each other” he explained. “That’s not exactly any of your business though” he added. 

It wasn’t much, but the new information he had given her sent her mind reeling. Her parents were associated with this wicked man? No, it couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t. Her mother and father were too noble, too good-hearted to ever willingly align themselves with someone as cruel and vile as Count Olaf. He had to be lying, though really, why would he have any reason to? 

“What does any of this have to do with me?” she murmured. 

“You know, for someone who is supposedly smart you do ask a lot of stupid questions” he muttered, turning on his heel to walk back on over to her. “I was going to let you perish in the flames with the rest of your annoying family, but when I caught a glimpse of you through that window I knew I couldn’t let something that beautiful be destroyed. So really, I saved your life. Your welcome”. 

“Yes, thank you for saving me from a fire that you set. You’re delusional” she spat. In the blink of an eye he’d pounced on top of her, removing the knife stashed in his pocket and holding it up against her chin. “You should watch your tongue, Baudelaire, unless you want me to cut it out of course, because I’d be more than happy to oblige” his voice descended into a low growl, his shiny eyes piercing through her soul. She knew it would be wise to not test him further, so she nodded her head in fervent agreement just so he’d remove the blade from her neck. 

“Good, you’re learning. It might take less time than I thought to break you”. Thankfully, he moved the knife away from her throat and onto the table beside the bed, though he still kept his position on top of her. Violet felt her breath stick in her throat, vivid visions of what he was going to do to her already conjuring themselves in her mind. “Please…” she managed to choke out which only made Olaf smirk in reply. “What’s this? You're already begging for more?” he taunted, moving to remove his coat.

Her eyes widened watching him undress. She couldn’t go through that hell again, not that soon anyway. “Please, don’t…” she whimpered meekly. 

She heard him chuckle slightly before moving a stray hand down towards her clit, lightly rubbing it with his fingers. She gasped at the sensation, though immediately regretted giving in to her body when she saw the devious grin spread across his lips. “Strange that you're saying that when this is your reaction. I don't think you really want me to stop” he said, continuing to rub against her, using his body to force her down against the bed. "Give in to me, Violet" he added with a low growl. 

She wished her hands were free so she could push him off, though with his strength he’d likely overpower her. Gritting her teeth to stifle a traitorous moan, she hated the way her body was responding to his touch. She wasn’t supposed to like this.

“Please, stop…”.

Olaf laughed. “No, I don’t think I will” he growled into her ear as she felt his erection press against her. She wanted to stab herself in the chest for reacting in such a way to his touch, and when he moved to lightly kiss her jawline she felt her soul leave her body entirely. There was no escape from this - he had her trapped. Nobody would come looking for her, and she’d live and die within these walls. 

He continued to stroke her, ignoring her whimpering cries and half-hearted pleas. She began to feel the torture of his touch mount within her, and she choked on a moan as she felt her orgasm ripple through her, sending shockwaves through her body. She hated every second of it, and wanted to tear at her own skin for daring to feel pleasure at his hands. She scrunched her eyes shut, bloodshot from her tears, not wanting to see his no doubt smug and self-satisfied face at her torment. 

She felt herself start to come down from the high, seeing Olaf reach for the buckle of his belt while he looked over her, the fire of carnal lust in his eyes. “Now...for my turn”.

Klaus sat at the desk in the spare bedroom he was staying in, his head firmly rested in his hands. His glasses were discarded off to the side, the lenses slightly smudged from the tears he’d been crying. He couldn’t cry anymore, having lost the energy for it hours ago, and instead sat there staring down through the gaps of his fingers at the wooden desk below. 

An hour or two before his father had come in to check on him, concerned for his state. He hadn’t moved from the small bedroom all day, not even for breakfast. They’d only arrived at Uncle Monty’s last night, still shaken from the events that had just taken place, and after escaping from the tunnels they’d headed straight for Monty’s place. He’d been surprised to open up his door in the early hours of the morning to see the Baudelaires on his front stoop, covered in soot but of course he’d let them in to use his telephone to contact the police and fire department, and offered them to stay as long as they needed to until they got their housing situation sorted. 

Beatrice had been dealing with the police all day, getting stuck on hold in endless phone calls trying to get some answers to do with their investigations - both her and Bertrand had been adamant in insisting the police look into the cause of the fire with much scrutiny. A small part of him was curious to the origin of the flames, as by all accounts it shouldn’t have happened. None of the wiring in their house was faulty to his knowledge, and nobody had left any candles burning or heaters running. Being a researcher at heart, normally he would be trying to investigate the cause himself. But things weren’t normal. Not without Violet.

It still didn’t seem real to him. He still expected for her to knock at his bedroom door, to find himself back in his own room reading through a new book he just bought. Violet would come in and ask him to help test one of her new inventions, and he’d happily volunteer himself. Maybe they’d bring Sunny for the extra company, or in case they needed something cut fine with her sharp teeth. 

Every single time he thought about it, the more it dawned on him that Violet was gone. She’d never create anything ever again, never smile or laugh or tie her ribbon in her hair, and knowing her last moments were probably spent in pain and agony did nothing to help his inner torment. 

There was a slight knock at the door, which he ignored in favour of continuously staring down at the desktop. “Klaus? Dinner is almost ready, will you be coming downstairs?” his mother’s voice called out through the door. 

“Maybe...I don’t know…” he replied flatly.

“Come on, honey. You need to eat something”.

Klaus sighed and stood up slowly. “Alright, I’ll be down in a minute”. He didn’t even know if he could really stomach food at the moment, but if it got his mother off his back then that would be something. 

He heard his mother's footsteps disappear down the hall, and he sighed to himself before picking up his glasses and walking over to the closet, still in his crumpled sleepwear from the night before. It was strange, going from having everything to having absolutely nothing in the blink of an eye. The stuff he took for granted every day - clean clothes, a toothbrush, his books - he found himself to be missing immensely. Bertrand had gone out earlier in the day to pick up a few essentials and some clothes for all of them. None of it was stuff he’d pick out for himself but he wasn’t in the position to complain after losing everything. 

Klaus pulled out a dark blue sweater and threw it on over the top of his pajama shirt, not really caring to properly dress himself. He’d most likely be back upstairs in about twenty minutes and in bed again, trying not to think of Violet’s voice. 

With the bare minimum of dressing he cared to do, he left the room and wandered down the hallway towards the double staircase. As he walked down, tracing his hands against the shiny wooden banister, the telephone had begun to ring. 

“Klaus, could you get that? It’s probably the police chief calling back. Tell him I’ll be with him in a second” Beatrice called out. 

“Sure” he nodded, and picked up the receiver in his hand. “Hello?”.

“Hello, young man, may I speak to Beatrice Baudelaire?” the voice of the police chief crackled through the line. 

“She’ll be with you in a second, she’s a bit busy at the moment. I’m Klaus Baudelaire, her son” he responded.

“Ahh, Klaus, my boy. I’m calling in regards to the investigation into the fire that destroyed your home. We have some new information that may prove interesting to you all”.

Klaus raised his eyebrows. “What new information are you talking about? Have you found out the cause of the fire?” he asked.

“No, we haven’t, but we do have some theories on how the blaze started. I’m sorry, is your mother free yet?”.

“She’s coming, alright? I’m already on the line so you might as well just tell me what you’ve discovered” he snapped, almost surprised with himself at his rising anger. He could hear the police chief cough sheepishly on the other end before saying “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in telling. After combing through the ruins of the Baudelaire mansion, we have been unable to locate the remains of your sister, Violet Baudelaire”.

At this Klaus’ heart stopped, only momentarily. Did he hear that correctly? His sister's body was unaccounted for. That didn’t make any sense. Shaking his head, he replied “What do you mean? You haven’t found any trace of her body?”.

“Currently, no, and we’ve investigated the entire property from top to bottom. It’s highly unusual for no human remains to be left after a fire”.

His mind raced processing this new information. It was about a year ago at that point, but Klaus had remembered reading about what happened to the human body if it was burnt. However, what he discovered was that generally most of the skeleton survives, and there are still burnt bone fragments that can be found to conduct an autopsy on, so to have none show up at all was highly suspicious. 

Klaus could hear the police chief on the other end of the line rambling on about other things they’d found in the investigation but he could barely hear him. If they didn’t find a body, or any human remains at all, did that mean that his sister had survived after all? Perhaps it was foolish to hold out hope, but it would be equally foolish to dismiss this new information entirely. As his mother finally entered the room and took the receiver from his hands, he decided right then and there that he was going to decipher this mystery and figure out exactly what had happened to Violet Baudelaire.


	4. Chapter 4

The next four days felt like torture to Violet. Every single minute dragged on, as if she was living through an entire year for every moment that passed. For all four of those days, she’d been only allowed minimal movement, the rare times she was freed from her restraints were to use the bathroom. She’d had nothing to occupy her time with, nothing to distract herself from her own mind. With nothing else to do, she surveyed the room around her a million times over, studying every crack in the wall and every scratch on the floorboard for anything that could prove either useful or mildly interesting to her. As expected, the exercise yielded nothing except a large sense of foolishness on her end. 

Her stomach growled again for the third time that day since she’d woken up, and she felt a sense of dread with every sharp pang of hunger. In the four days she’d been captive, nobody had given her any food. She knew that if Olaf wanted to keep her around for the long run he was going to have to feed her eventually, though with how cruel he was he’d no doubt try to make her go without for longer, enjoying the thought of her suffering for reasons that were still largely unclear to her. Maybe he was just a sadist, and got some sort of sick pleasure out of seeing her broken. His monologue a few days before would seem to suggest that much. Violet knew that the human body could on average survive three weeks without food, and she hoped that she wouldn’t be forced to go through those weeks with absolutely nothing to eat. 

Her head throbbed slightly, being a tad dehydrated from the minimal water consumption. That was one thing she was given at least. One of the few instances of human interaction she had in those days was Fernald coming in to give her a glass of water. She’d stopped pleading with him to release her, since she didn’t want to end up drugged again, and so she’d just sipped on the water quietly, eyeing him with suspicion until she finished, when he’d then yank the glass from her hands and exit the room once more. 

The first time she’d been let out of the cuffs she’d immediately reached down to the floor to pick up her nightgown, now covered with a few stray pieces of dust and lint, to dress herself with. The humiliation of already spending two days naked and being seen by two different men in that state made her red with shame. This shouldn’t be happening to her. She should be with her family, wherever they may be, instead of rotting away in some mysterious manor.

Olaf had also left her alone for the most part for those few days, seeming to be kept out of the house for elusive reasons. The reprieve was nice, the aches in her body started to fade and her bruises turned from red into a startling shade of blue. Though less obvious, she could still make out the marks from his fingers where he’d dug into her. 

Most of her time not spent staring at ceilings and walls was spent drifting in and out of bouts of fitful sleep. She’d find herself becoming drowsy, lost in her own thoughts, and would find herself passed out only to reawaken what felt like mere moments later. She could never tell if it actually was only a few moments or a few hours. Being in captivity, she began to start missing some of the strangest things, an accurate way to tell the time being one of them. During the times she was asleep she still wasn’t at peace. Her dreams were frightening, extremely confusing and she struggled to remember most of them the minute she woke up. The only time she’d been able to escape these nightmares was when she’d been knocked out with that drug - then she’d slept like a kitten. 

It was during one of these intermissions of sleep when she’d found herself violently shaken awake. Through her bleary eyes, she saw Olaf looking down at her, murderous fury ripe in his eyes, and she immediately began to panic. Why was he looking at her like that? Had he decided he’d become bored of her already and decided to dispose of her? Her hands fell limp around her as he freed her from the set of handcuffs, and before she could fully process what was happening Olaf’s hands were wrapped around her hair and pulling her off the bed. She yelped at the feeling of her hair being tugged, falling clumsily onto the floorboards below with a thud. 

“What are you doing? Olaf, what-” she cried out, before being abruptly cut off by the back of his hand being slapped across her cheek. She winced, clutching the edge of her stinging cheek. “What was that for? I didn’t do anything wrong!” she protested.

He pulled tighter on her hair, yanking her head up to face him. “It seems that, frustratingly enough, your nuisance of a family survived the fire” he snarled. “So now, all of my plans have gone to waste”. 

Her eyes sparkled the moment she heard that, a bright spark of hope igniting deep within her. “My family is alive?!” she exclaimed. She couldn’t believe it. They’d survived! Mother, Father, Klaus and Sunny...they were all alive! They were probably out there right now, trying to find her. Maybe she wouldn’t have to live a miserable existence in this wretched place for the rest of her life. She breathed a small sigh of relief, which was instantly noticed by Olaf and prompted him to dig his fingernails into her skull. “Don’t get all excited. Nobody knows you're here, so it’s not like they’ll come to save you” he hissed.

Feeling slightly more bold with this new revelation, she shot an incensed glare back at him, trying to ignore the pain shooting through the roots of her hair. “You’re wrong. My family will come after me. They’ll find me, and then you’ll get arrested and rot in jail for the rest of your days!”. 

Olaf let out a low growl and tossed her to the floor. She managed to catch herself with her hands as he walked over to the corner of the room where a lone chair was placed. “Getting testy are you? I thought you would have learnt by now. Maybe I need to take on a more...forceful approach” he said. Violet looked up to seem him pick up the chair in his hands, moving towards her. She started to scramble backwards, trying to get as far away from him as possible but to no success, as moments later he’d swung the chair around and hit her straight in the head.

She screamed out in pain and fell to the floor, pain shooting through her skull. Another strike of pain shot through her, this time to her arm as he smashed the piece of furniture against her. 

“Olaf, please, stop!” she cried out but he didn’t let up, bashing her over and over on every single part of her body. She sobbed in pain every time, her limbs becoming raw from the repeated beatings. The more she begged him to stop, the harder he struck, so she found herself cowering against the floor, wishing for sudden death, or at least a fainting spell to save her. Blood started to spill out of her nose, and she felt herself becoming bruised all over the more he beat her. Her vision started to become slightly blurred, and she found herself coughing blood onto the floor. She was sure that she must be concussed by now, and when she felt as if one last blow would have knocked her out for good, he finally stopped. 

He tossed the now splintered chair aside and leant down towards her, not caring at the writhing amounts of pain she was experiencing. “Let that be a lesson to you, Violet. As for your family, well, don’t count on them coming to save you. Everyone has presumed you to be dead. Nobody will come looking for you” he said, watching her try to pick herself up off the ground, still sputtering from the blood in her throat.

Violet’s heart stopped as the realisation of his words dawned on her. If they hadn’t seen her snatched away, they would have assumed that she’d have perished in the flames. Her heart sank further into her chest. He was right. Nobody would come for her. 

She shook her head. No. They wouldn’t just take it at face value. At least, she didn’t think they would. If they didn’t find a body, then surely they’d have doubts about her supposed death? She knew her brother at the very least would push for more evidence. Still, that hope was too small to put any faith in, and she almost couldn’t even bring herself to even try. If she did, she’d only be setting herself up for disappointment when three more weeks passed and nobody had still come to save her.

It hurt her heart to think so pessimistically. Even if it was a long shot, she still had to have some hope that she’d make it out of this mess. It had only been four days, hardly any time at all to be throwing in the towel. At the very least, retaining faith would be to spite Olaf in a way, since he strove to break her beyond recognition. If she could still manage to hold on to this part of herself, then he wouldn’t win.

She tried to lift herself up, but found her limbs buckle under her weight, still aching sore from the torture that had been inflicted on her moments before. Her ears started to ring as she looked down at her own blood, hearing Olaf speak but not being able to pick out the exact words he was saying. She remembered wondering if her arms were broken before the world went black around her. 

Some time later, when Violet finally opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was red. Glancing up, she noticed that the room was empty once again, the door firmly locked in place. She hadn’t noticed him leave, and when she looked around she saw that she was still on the floor, face down in splatters of her own blood. She didn’t remember blacking out.

Picking herself up, she saw that although her body was still sore her arms and legs weren’t broken from Olaf’s earlier attack, just badly bruised. She sat up and rolled up the hem of her dress, seeing the various marks covering her from head to toe. The sight of them made her stomach roll. 

It suddenly occurred to her that Olaf hadn’t bothered to cuff her again and had just left her on the floor. She was happy to be free of her restraints, and certainly wasn’t about to start complaining. She stood up slowly, eyes scanning the room for anything that could prove useful to her. Now that she could move her body again, she was going to try to figure out a way to escape. The first place she looked for supplies was the chest of drawers in the corner, though to her dismay she found the drawers to contain absolutely nothing at all. Sighing in frustration, she moved on to the nightstands, once again coming up with nothing. If the drawers had contained anything, they’d probably had been removed when she was knocked out. 

Still, she hunted through the room anyway, just in case there was something they missed. Several times she’d reached out for her wrist for her hair ribbon, only to find nothing there. She remembered that she didn’t bring it with her when she went downstairs that night, and took a moment to mourn its loss to the fire. After tearing a loose strand from the tassels meant to hold the curtains in place, she tied her hair back into a loose ponytail and considered her options. The glass on the windows was thick, and would take a lot to break it. The only thing she had to bludgeon it with was a loose chair leg, and that on its own would definitely not be enough. If only she had some rocks, or any other heavy object, she could braid the curtains into a rope and break the window, allowing her to escape. 

Violet went through the small room over and over, not finding anything useful. Sadly, it seemed that Olaf had been thorough in removing objects that could help her. Resting herself against the window, she figured her next best option was to try to get the attention of someone outside, maybe communicate with them somehow that she’s in peril. 

She sat there for hours looking out for people. The street was mostly desolate, and she waited for ages between various appearances of civilians. She first spotted a man jogging outside, and tried to get his attention by waving and banging on the windows, but he didn’t notice her, and he was gone too soon, lost in his own world. The next people that had shown up were two girls, both looking to be in their early twenties, enjoying a leisurely stroll down the block. They’d noticed her frantic waving but instead of being concerned they each gave her a half hearted wave and hurried on their way. 

Pretty soon, Violet slumped back against the wall, her spirit thoroughly crushed by the ignorance of others. Couldn’t they see the sheer panic in her eyes when they looked at her? Or those bruises creeping up her neck? Were they even able to look outside of themselves for more than two seconds to see another person in need? She tried to rationalise that maybe they hadn’t seen her bruises, that she’d been too far away or not urgent enough in her gestures, but she still felt let down. 

Eventually, nightfall came and the only life left on the streets was the odd car returning home from work. She stared out at them, wondering what it would be like if the fire hadn’t happened and if she was free like them. She’d be home from school by now probably, working on homework or various invention blueprints. She wondered if her friends had thought of her, if they missed her in her absence. If everyone assumed she was dead, would they have a funeral for her? She almost couldn’t bear the thought. 

At some point, she’d been roused from her state of catatonia by the telltale sound of the key turning in the door lock. She only looked over momentarily to see who it was: Fernald was standing there, carrying a plate with a few loose slices of bread. Violet’s mouth watered at the sight of food, and she shuffled towards him, graciously taking the plate from him. “Thank you. It’s been a few days” she muttered, settling back down onto the floor. Fernald shrugged in response. “Olaf wants you broken, not starving to death. Don’t act like you weren’t ever going to be fed”.

“I wasn’t, I was just...I knew you’d have to feed me eventually if you wanted to keep me alive, I just didn’t know when that’d happen” she replied in a small voice. Shoving the first slice of bread into her mouth, she felt a wave of relief wash over her as she finally was able to consume some sort of food in days. She tore through the bread she was given quickly, feeling her head start to become a tad clearer and her energy starting to come back to her. It wasn’t enough to fully satiate her hunger but it was something.

Fernald took the plate from her immediately afterwards, effectively hindering any vague idea she had of keeping it use against the window. He produced a semi-damp cloth from his coat pocket and held it out to her. “Here” he said. “You’ve still got a little bit of blood on your nose”. 

She took the rag without any further comment and rubbed it over her face, clearing away the remnants of blood. Tossing it aside next to her, she looked up at him with her pleading blue eyes, silently communicating her desire for freedom. He just shook his head back at her, and Violet gave up, slouching down against the windowside and waiting for him to leave. 

“Why are you even helping him?” she mumbled, not really expecting a reply. She didn’t even look up at him when she said it, instead continuing to gaze mournfully out the window. To her surprise, he gave her an answer. “Olaf and I have a long history together. That’s all you need to know”.

She looked up at him incredulously. “How does that justify any of this?” she asked. “If someone I knew was doing what he did to me, I wouldn’t just stand back and watch. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself”.

“Well, kid, you and I are different people with different values. There’s a whole lot more at play here that you have no idea about” he explained. Violet scoffed at him. “Clearly. Still don’t think that would hold up as a defense in court”.

“Lucky for me, I have no intention of ever appearing before a judge”. 

She sighed, hugging her knees tightly against her chest and burying her head under her knotted mess of hair. “Does my family really think I’m dead?” she asked softly, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

“Probably. Don’t hold out hope for them coming to look for you. You might as well get used to being here. Count Olaf is planning on keeping you for a very long time”.

Tears started to fall down her cheeks, staining the fabric of her white nightgown. She had so many scathing words she wanted to say to him, to scream at him for letting Olaf do as he pleased to her. She wanted to force him to look at the myriad of bruises on her body and make him confront the reality of what he was allowing to happen behind closed doors. But she knew he wouldn’t care. Just like Olaf, Fernald was a vile and despicable man. He knew that she was suffering and still acted as an accomplice to Olaf’s treachery, and still followed his orders to drug her only days before. 

She wanted to say all of this and more but found herself only muttering a weak “Go to hell” under her breath. He didn’t retaliate in any way, just simply stared at her for a moment more before making his exit, leaving her alone once more to face the unending dread of her hopeless situation. 

Miles away, Klaus Baudelaire had surrounded himself with books, secluded in the depths of Monty’s Reptile Room. Ever since receiving that phone call from the chief of police four days ago, he seldom slept, choosing to research night and day into various topics of interest that could help with his quest for answers. Most of his research had centred around the process the human body goes through once it's been burned. After finding himself in a depressive slump for the past few days, Klaus had found a spark of light in the darkness, and sought to chase after it at any cost. 

After gathering up whatever books Monty had on the subject and making a brief trip to the city library for supplementary material, he had poured over his books, trying to figure things out. He knew his parents were concerned with his state, and the night before they had finally gotten him to go to bed, though unbeknownst to them Klaus had smuggled a flashlight upstairs and continued reading under the covers of his bed, reminiscent of more innocent days spent as a young child trying to read another chapter of his novel before being forced into slumber. 

He was sure that human bones didn’t completely turn to ash, but wanted to double check on it before confronting his parents. Beatrice and Bertrand had been mildly intrigued by the news the police chief had given them, but still maintained that it was too early to hold out hope. They could have just missed something in the investigation after all. But something nagged at Klaus, telling him that the police hadn’t missed anything and that Violet had escaped the fire after all. 

And he was right - throughout his hours of pouring over various textbooks and jotting down notes, he found that human bones didn’t turn to ash in a fire. The human skeleton goes through four stages of transformation when reacting to fire, the first being rapid dehydration as moisture evaporates from the body, followed by decomposition, inversion (where the mineral part of the bone changes) and fusion, though what stage it reaches in its destruction depends on the heat and intensity of the flames. 

After two hours at a 1000 degrees celsius, bones tend to become brittle and crumbly, which does make remains initially difficult to detect and can be highly susceptible to being disturbed or even destroyed in the early stages of a forensic investigation. This information had caused his heart to falter slightly, but still, for there to be absolutely nothing found at all was still odd. Would this be enough of a case to present to the police? He sure hoped so, because if there was any chance that his sister was still out there, they had to take it. 

Slamming his book shut, Klaus deposited it back atop of the growing stack of textbooks around him and stood up from the armchair he’d spent the last four days sitting in. His legs wobbled slightly, and he wondered for the first time in days how many hours exactly he’d been researching for. Glancing next to him, he saw two empty mugs of coffee and sighed. Maybe he had problems. 

He set out to locate his mother first, as she’d been the one on the phone with the police after Klaus had handed the phone off to her. According to what she said, they hadn’t really told her anything different than what was said to him - the police were holding out on classing Violet as a missing person just in case some bone fragments still managed to show up. Klaus hoped that with some pressure from his parents, they might reconsider and open up a case file for her. He found his mother in the back garden, playing with Sunny on the freshly cut lawn. She looked up at him with a warm smile, though he could tell that behind it she was far from cheerful. 

“You’re finally out of your nest. I’m surprised - your father and I didn’t expect to see you at all today”.

Klaus gave a half-hearted chuckle in response before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I wanted to talk to you about some stuff, to do with Violet”.

Beatrice’s smile faded as she scooped Sunny up in her arms, standing up to face her son. “Sure, honey. What is it you wanted to say?” she asked.

“Well, as you know, since the police called my mind has been racing. I’ve been wondering, well...what if we were wrong? What if Violet did escape? So I started doing some research into the destruction of the human skeletal system in a fire, and I’ve determined that, well, human remains don’t just disappear that easily. If the police can’t locate any trace of a body in the wreckage, then there’s every possibility that Violet is still alive” he said, trying to discern his mother's thoughts from her facial expression. He saw her furrow her brow slightly, and once he finished responded with “It is possible, yes. But if she escaped, then where is she now? Why hasn’t she tried to seek us out?”.

“It’s possible that something’s keeping her from trying to reach us, or she doesn’t know where we are. That’s why I think we need to pressure the police into opening up a missing persons case for her”. 

Beatrice remained quiet for a few moments, and he was almost worried that she was going to dismiss him when she spoke up. “Klaus...there’s something I haven’t told you” she began, before clearing her throat slightly and motioning for him to follow her inside. He complied without question, and he led her into the kitchen where she sat Sunny down on one of the barstools. She paused for a moment more, seeming to be deep in thought. “When I was going through the house, trying to make sure everyone had evacuated, I went into Violet’s room. When I got there, her bed was empty. At the time I assumed she had gotten up during the night and was trapped in another part of the house, but...now that I think about it, I’m not so sure that’s the case”.

Klaus blinked at her in disbelief. “You mean she wasn’t there? At all?”.

She shook her head. “No, she wasn’t. I thought it was odd at the time, but considering everything the police have told us about their investigations among...other reasons, I don’t think Violet perished in the fire that night”.

“So...we should call the cops right? See if they can begin investigating into her whereabouts?”.

“Let’s wait for your father to get home from the bank first. I’d rather he be involved in this discussion. But yes, we will pressure the police into opening up an investigation into her” she replied. 

Klaus felt ecstatic at the news, though something still bothered him about what his mother had said. “What other reasons are you talking about?” he asked, to which Beatrice shook her head sorrowfully at him. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it Klaus, but trust me, it’s not something that concerns you. Once Bertrand comes back, we’ll give the police chief a ring and look into getting a bulletin posted. Maybe someone might have seen something that night and it will help us track down Violet”.

He looked at her in curiosity, his eyes widening in response. He didn’t feel she was a hundred percent honest with him, and that she had her own theory on why Violet hadn’t come forward if she had survived the fire. He was almost afraid to push it, but his thirst for answers overruled his nerves. “You don’t think...that Violet was taken by any chance?” he said slowly. 

Beatrice only gave her son a melancholic sigh and sorrowful gaze in response. “I honestly wouldn’t know”. 


	5. Chapter 5

One week had passed since her capture. Violet had only known it had been that long after catching a glimpse of the paper Olaf had been reading earlier that day and seeing the date as April 17, before it had been hastily whisked away from her grasp and she’d been thoroughly berated for snooping around. She’d almost pointed out that she wasn’t snooping in any way, that the paper had been left out on the kitchen table for anyone to see, but she instead bit her tongue and nodded her head, and followed his order to return to scrubbing the ballroom floor. That’s where she was now, knee deep in soapy water scrubbing through years of grime caked onto the floorboards.

Her white nightgown had dulled into a light shade of grey, the stains from cleaning permanently marked into the fabric. When she’d done the laundry she’d taken it off and tried to scrub the dirt off as best she could but alas, although the gown was technically clean it still wasn’t the same luminous white it had once been. She didn’t have anything else to wear though, so she’d sighed and thrown it back on over her head. 

Violet had awoken two days before to find the bedroom door unlocked. Her heart leapt for joy momentarily, thinking that perhaps by some divine intervention Fernald had decided to go against Olaf and let her go. She’d been stupid to think that, looking back - he’d ignored her cries for help every single time, so why would he have a sudden change of heart? Still, she’d taken a cautious step out into the hall, listening out for any evidence that someone else may be around, and when she heard nothing she bolted for the front door. 

She grasped her hand around the brass handle and twisted it both ways several times, hitting her fist against the door. It was very clearly locked, and she almost felt stupid for continuing to slam her fist against it, but she had to at least try. At last, when she finally had given up and taken a step back, her heart sinking further into her chest, that was when he’d shown up. 

“Did you really think I’d just leave the door open for a little brat like you to run out?” Olaf’s voice piped up from behind her, snarky and taunting. She turned to face him slowly, desperately loathing the glee in his eyes from seeing her heart falter. “You really have proven yourself to be an idiot time and time again, Baudelaire”.

Ignoring his scathing remark against her intelligence, she asked “Then why did you leave the upstairs room unlocked?”. 

Olaf rolled his eyes at her and stepped forward. She shifted back into the door slightly, wishing she could just disappear entirely right then and there. “I wasn’t going to keep you trapped in there forever. There’s far more useful things you could be doing with your time rather than pacing back and forward” he said. 

Violet eyed him suspiciously. “Like what?”.

He reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a folded sheet of paper, tossing it at her. Instinctively, she leapt to catch it and upon opening it found it to be a list of chores. “You could start with some of these, though I’m sure I can come up with a few more if you’re willing” he replied. 

She blinked at him, a vague look of disbelief settling onto her face. “You seriously want me to do your housework for you?” she asked, looking back down at the list once more. Most of the tasks listed were menial and wouldn’t require any great amount of backbreaking labour but she was still astonished at the absolute audacity of him to be ordering her to clean his house after what he’d done. Even if he hadn’t raped her, she still wouldn’t do any favours for him. 

“Yes, and I suggest you get a move on, or would you rather be stuck back upstairs?” he threatened. She looked up at him after scanning the list for a third time, trying to figure how to best communicate her frustration in a way that wouldn’t end with her being beaten or worse. “Olaf, how do you expect me to get all of this done in one day?” she questioned, trying to sound as polite and obedient as possible. 

“That sounds an awful lot like talking back, Baudelaire. Do you really want to lose your tongue that badly?” he frowned, to which Violet shook her head and muttered a quick “no” in response. “Didn’t think so. Now, go make yourself useful and get to work” he chided before turning on his heel in a rather dramatic fashion and leaving her to ponder on what task she should attempt first.

The past two days had been the same - she’d wake from her sleep late morning. She’d look down at herself and sigh, wishing she’d have died in her sleep, and then set off for the bathroom to wash her face. She’d found a comb hidden away in one of the back cupboards, and had used that to scrape through the messy tangles of hair to make herself look sort of presentable. She didn’t entirely know why she bothered - the only people who saw her were Olaf and Fernald, but the feeling of filthy knotted hair had started to grate on her, and after a week of being locked in one room any activity that relatively resembled a normal routine was of small comfort to her. She’d finally been able to shower as well, so she felt overall less dirty even though she had to wear the same thing every day.

Then she’d go downstairs and try to make herself something to eat with whatever she found in the cupboards: her breakfasts usually consisted of dry toast and a glass of milk. It satisfied her enough and gave her the energy to complete her tasks, but she still couldn’t help but want eggs or pancakes instead. 

He’d given her many rules during this time - don’t cry, don’t go up into the tower room, no idling around, and of course the one that went without saying: don’t bother trying to escape. She was only allowed in the backyard for 30 minutes, and had to be supervised the entire time. The fresh air had been nice, and Violet had embraced the feeling of the sun against her skin - she hadn’t been sure if she’d ever see daylight again. Still, the feeling of being watched made her feel unnerved, and after taking stock of her surroundings she’d gone back inside without much of a fuss.

She hadn’t gone through the entirety of the first list two days before, and had spent most of the previous day working through the remaining tasks. Every opportunity she had she tried to scrounge around for any supplies or materials that could help her escape. Sadly, the few semi-useful things she found would need extensive tinkering to be able to prove useful, and she wasn’t afforded much time outside of her allotment of housework. He never did watch her during these times, predictably not finding watching a young girl clean the house to be the most interesting of pastimes. Actually, apart from the mornings and night she scarcely saw any trace of the Count. She still didn’t think it wise to sneak off and go against his orders, not yet anyway. 

When she hadn’t finished his list the first day, she’d thought he would become mad with her but on the contrary, he’d dismissed her and said whatever she didn’t finish that day she could just do tomorrow, before waving Fernald over to escort her back to her room. 

After going through the whole house, she’d tried to determine if there were any other points of exit that she could use to her advantage. She hadn’t found any. When she’d briefly stepped out into the backyard, she’d looked at the tall stone fence and tried to evaluate if she would be able to climb it. She probably could, but would need some kind of grappling hook. She thought back to the broken umbrella she had come across upstairs and her mind started to tick, thinking how she could tie some of the ripped curtains around it to form a suitable hook. Violet filed that idea away for a later date, one where she could be certain that she’d be alone in the house so she could work without interruption. 

So there she was, scrubbing through the grimey floorboards of the ballroom and trying to keep her mind clear and focused. The cleaning was methodic, and she didn’t mind it all too much. It was better than being locked away in that room, and certainly better than being raped by Olaf. He’d left her alone, so she was grateful for that much. But she knew that he’d probably pounce on her in the next day or two, and tried to mentally prepare herself for the internal anguish that would cause. 

The same thought kept running through her mind. _I shouldn’t have to go through this_. If Olaf had such an issue with her parents, why did he have to take it out on her? No, it wasn’t just that. Violet remembered what he’d said, about after seeing her he couldn’t let her be killed by the fire, and all the fleeting comments he’d made about owning her. The thought made her throw up in her mouth slightly. 

Violet sighed and threw down the rag she was cleaning with in disgust. Her body was aching all over, and her arms were sore from the repetitive movement. Olaf wasn’t around to chastise her, so she could afford herself this small break, right? Leaning back on her arms, she stretched her back out, feeling her joints loosen. The bruises from when he’d beaten her earlier that week were still visible, showing no signs of healing. She’d gotten used to seeing herself bruised and mistreated, almost morbidly laughing to herself how she looked like one of those children on a PSA poster against child abuse. 

She’d rested for all of two minutes when the ballroom doors flung open. Violet hurried to grab the discarded cloth to make it look like she was incredibly busy. Olaf strode through the door, his eyes zeroing in on her crouched down on the floor scrubbing away furiously. 

“You’re still cleaning in here?” he remarked rather rudely, positioning himself in front of her. 

“Yes, well, it takes time to clean a floor that hasn’t been washed in a good five years” she muttered, continuing to direct her eyes down. There was a moment of silence only punctured by the sound of the dirty rag rubbing against the floor before he spoke up again. “You can finish this later. My theatre troupe will be coming over in a few hours and I expect you to cook us dinner” he announced. 

Violet looked up hesitantly, trying to find the proper way to vocalise her incredulity. “You want me...to cook dinner...for you and your friends?”.

Olaf rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s what I said. You come in, serve our drinks and food, and then make yourself scarce. I don’t need a filthy brat hanging around embarrassing me in front of my associates” he instructed. 

“But I’ve never cooked a large meal before…”. 

“I’m sure you can figure it out easily enough, clever girl” he dismissed. “When the troupe arrives, if any of them ask who you are, you’re to say you’re my girlfriend Beverly and that you’re staying with me. I wouldn’t usually go to the trouble of inventing a cover story, but seeing as the fire didn’t exactly go to plan it seems to be in my better interest to keep it all under wraps”. 

“And what if I don’t?” she shot back, standing up to face him. The thought of pretending to be the girlfriend of such a vile man sent her reeling, even if it was just a cover story. A wicked smile began to spread across his face and Violet immediately regretted asking him anything. “Well, then I guess I’ll have to go pay your nuisance of a family another visit. I’m sure that booky brother of yours won’t be needing his head for much longer anyway” he menaced. 

She felt her heart stop in her chest and she stumbled slightly, her bare feet skidding against the wet floor. “You wouldn’t”. 

“Oh, but I would. So I suggest you do exactly as I say, because as it stands I would like nothing more than to tear your parents and your bratty siblings from limb to limb” he hissed, adding extra emphasis on the last word. Violet looked down at the floor and back up at him, her mind already conjuring up images of the horrible things he could do to her family. With a low sigh, she returned her gaze to the ground and nodded slowly. She wanted to keep them safe at all costs, even if she couldn’t be with them, and if staying with Count Olaf and letting him abuse her was the way to do it, then she had no choice but to comply. 

“Good girl. The troupe will be over in an hour and a half, and I expect dinner to be ready by the time they walk in, so you best get a move on” he said, strutting out of the room leaving her to stand alone amongst the puddles of murky soapwater. She gulped, and looked up towards the ceiling, hoping to high heaven that somebody at the dinner party would notice something was amiss and help her out. Though she couldn’t count on much - if they were Olaf’s friends, they certainly weren’t going to be pleasant people.

Shuffling off towards the kitchen, she reached for her wrist for the string of tassel she’d swiped off the curtains a few days before and tied up her hair. If she remembered correctly, while cleaning out the kitchen earlier she’d found a cookbook gathering dust at the back of one of the cupboards, and flicking through it the recipes in there seemed simple enough. Reaching the fridge, she took a mental inventory of the items there and tried to find a recipe that didn’t include anything she didn’t already have. She eventually settled for making pasta puttanesca, and set about preparing the meal. 

Violet was nervous about cooking, as the last time she’d tried to cook bread and butter pudding as a nice gesture for her mother it had turned out burnt and wholly inedible. Her mother had laughed the incident off, and said it was the thought that counted. She knew Olaf would be nowhere near as amicable or forgiving if she failed, contributing to her stress. Though as she boiled the pasta and chopped up the tomatoes and garlic, she realised that if she just stuck by what the book told her to do that she’d be alright. 

She looked at the sauce she made and couldn’t help but wish she had some poison to dash it with. She didn’t know if she really had it in her to kill someone, even someone as horrid as Count Olaf, but the thought still festered in her mind. She could kill him, or even herself, if she wanted to. It’d be easier to escape with him dead. When she was looking for chemicals to clean the bathrooms her gaze had lingered on the bottles of bleach and ammonia. If they were mixed together, they’d create chlorine gas. With a high enough concentration, it could kill both of them. She’d shaken the thought off and returned to her duties, but she hadn’t dismissed it entirely. If her family never found her, and she couldn’t escape any other way, then maybe that was her only option. 

Still, she held out a sliver of hope that her family was out there trying to find her. They wouldn’t give up that easily. They couldn’t just believe that she was dead, they just couldn’t.

A while later, the sound of noise filled the house as the guests began to arrive. The sauce was almost done and the pasta had been ready for awhile now, so she wasn’t about to receive any complaints for being late with the meal. She remembered that Olaf said he had wanted her to serve them drinks as well, and went off to the cellar to fetch a few bottles of red wine off the racks. 

Stepping into the large dining room, she observed the people that now surrounded the large table as she went around filling each of their glasses with wine. They seemed to be an odd assortment of people to put it bluntly: the group included two twins with powdered white faces, an individual of indeterminable gender, a bald man with a long nose, and a man with a glass eye to name a few. Fernald was also there, and he was the only one to regard her existence for the most part while she moved between them, trying to scurry out of there as fast as possible. None of them noticed the desperate look in her eyes or the clusters of bruises littering her exposed skin. 

When she got to Olaf, she noticed the bald man staring at her out the corner of her eye. The feeling made her uncomfortable but she tried to hide it as best she could, lowering her head so that some of her hair fell across her eyes. 

“Hey, boss, who’s the little lady? She’s a pretty one” the bald man asked, and Violet immediately felt her heart stop the moment her presence became highlighted around the room. Olaf picked his wine glass up between his fingers and reached out to lightly grab her from behind with one hand. “I suppose I should introduce you all to your hostess this evening. This, my associates, is Beverly, my girlfriend. She’ll be staying with me these next coming weeks, won’t you, darling?” he announced, looking towards her expectantly. Violet gazed around the table, trying to gauge everyone else's reactions - she could see Fernald off to the side, shooting Olaf a questioning look. He obviously hadn’t been filled in on the lie. Everybody else looked on with mild interest, still failing to notice her increasing discomfort at being spotlighted. 

“Oh, yeah, right. I’m..uhh...I’m Beverly Marsh, Count Olaf’s...girlfriend” Violet stuttered, almost wanting to vomit at the words coming out of her mouth. However, if saying that kept her family alive and safe, she had to grin and bear it, as much as it killed her inside. Olaf seemed satisfied enough with her playacting and shoved her off to the side, yelling something about getting dinner ready. She scurried off after that into the safety of the kitchen, one part of her relieved to be out of that situation, but most of her still disgusted at what she had to say. And the fact that they’d all readily believed such a lie...were they really that blind? 

She focused on plating up the pasta after that, her disappointment in others ignorance raging through her. Before stepping back into the dining room, she took a deep breath and made an attempt at swallowing the broiling bubble of anxiety inside her. With one final sigh, she nudged open the large set of double doors and made her way into the room, ready to play the unwilling hostess.

None of the members of his troupe took much notice of her when she served them, instead listening to Olaf talk about some tedious and insipid story involving him and the names of people she didn’t recognise. When she got to the bald man he began to stare at her with those same eyes as before, and Violet shrank into herself, wanting to run far away from there. Olaf took notice of this and glared at the both of them but said nothing, so when Violet came up to serve him his dinner she was surprised when he curtly asked “Where’s the roast beef?”.

She blinked at him, her mind trying to process what was happening. “Excuse me?”.

His eyes bore into her, his expression one that seemed to think of her as nothing more than a lowly, stupid girl. “The roast beef” he repeated slowly.

Violet stared at him in confusion. “I didn’t make any roast beef, I made pasta puttanesca. You didn’t say you wanted roast beef” she replied through gritted teeth. 

In that moment, a dark look crossed his face and she felt her heart begin to race as she watched him stand up in his seat, looking down at her in disgust. “I asked you to perform a simple task, something that I couldn’t have been any more clear on if I tried, and instead of being an obedient little girl you slap together some second rate meal and disgusting sauce. I demand you serve my troupe and I roast beef at once!”

“You didn’t mention a single thing about roast beef earlier, and I don’t have any. There’s puttanesca sauce, it’s just as good” she muttered. “You’re being unfair, Olaf”.

He smoothed his hand over his forehead in annoyance, seeming to become even more frustrated at her impertinence. She knew she was testing his limits by fighting back against him but she couldn’t help it - he’d already threatened her into cooking for him in the first place, and now he was becoming angry with her because she couldn’t read his mind and figure out exactly what he wanted without him saying it aloud. _What a childish man,_ she thought, forcing herself to stand tall against him. 

“Let me be clear, girl. You and I both know that I am not someone to be trifled with. Or have you forgotten about our little conversation earlier?” he hissed. “Now, do as I say and go make us a proper dinner”.

For a moment, Violet felt all sense of logic and self preservation fly out the window as she slammed the bowl of pasta down on the table. “How?! You don’t have any roast beef. If you wanted some you should have said something so I could have gone to get some” she spat at him, only taking slight notice of the growing rage in his eyes but still refusing to stop. She was tired of his nonsense, and even though it wasn’t smart by any means to give out to him, she just couldn’t stop. “Oh wait, you won’t let me out of the house anyway! Because you fucking kidnapped me and-”.

The next thing she knew she was faced down on the floor, the sting from where the back of Olaf’s hand had hit her shooting through her. There was an audible gasp from the various members of the troupe around the table but nobody said anything else as Violet sat herself up on the floor, her eyes wide in a flurrying mixture of shock and fear. 

Turning back towards the troupe, Olaf sighed in an overly exaggerated way and proclaimed “In the absence of anything better to eat, I suppose we can make do with whatever this is. Beverly, you are to clean the table after we’re finished, wash the dishes, polish the silver and then go back upstairs for the rest of the night. Have I made myself clear?”

Cusping her stinging cheek in one hand and using all of her willpower to fight back the growing cascade of tears, she stumbled to her feet and faced him with a look of sheer burning hatred. “Crystal” she muttered. 

“Good. Now, get out of here, you’re taking up space” he spat, flopping back down into his seat at the head of the table. Violet didn’t need to be told twice after that, swiftly making her exit. From the moment she closed the doors she couldn’t hold herself back any longer, and promptly burst into tears. Everything in her wanted to scream, to let it all out but she knew Olaf would retaliate further if he heard her causing a fuss, so she tried to contain as much of it as she could. 

Leaning back against the hardwood doors, she slid down and curled herself into a tight little ball, fastening her arms under her knees into a fetal position. The tears just wouldn’t stop - she cried for her parents, her brother and sister, most likely thinking she was dead and never knowing she was still out there. She cried for her friends at school, probably hearing news of the fire and wondering what became of her. But mostly she cried for herself, and the unending dread of her entire set of circumstances. 

She could hear a roar of voracious laughter through the doors, the group seeming to forget bearing witness to her being struck by Olaf. She had expected no less of them, after all how good could someone be if they were associated with Count Olaf? She buried her face further into her knees, again finding herself wishing to be stricken by the miracle of sudden death. She wouldn’t be that lucky, she knew, and to that she sobbed even harder into the skirt of her nightgown, a fresh coat of tears replacing the ones that were already beginning to dry up on the soft fabric.

Eventually, Violet did manage to pick herself up, uncurling herself from the tiniest ball possible that she had managed to fold herself into, though it felt like a lifetime had passed since she first stepped back in the kitchen that night. The voices and laughter had grown even louder, and Violet had a feeling they were getting sufficiently drunk. She’d left two bottles in there for them, and she hadn’t been ordered in to clear anything away just yet so she figured she might as well take the time to try to eat something and ignore the throbbing pain in her cheek.

The pasta had gone cold by that time but she still plated up a small serving for herself, depositing it on the kitchen island along with a glass of milk she had poured. Before sitting down to eat, she had fetched a damp cloth from the sink and used it to wipe away her tears - a mostly useless gesture that she didn’t know entirely why she partook in. Wiping away her tears wouldn’t erase any of the pain.

She forced herself to eat the plate of pasta she’d thrown together, despite it being cold it was still something, better than nothing. She’d no sooner finished her meal when she heard Olaf shout out for her to come in and clean up. Taking a deep breath, Violet pushed herself off the barstool she was seated on and dumped her empty plate in the sink before turning to face the looming set of doors in front of her. If it was her choice, she wouldn’t have gone back in there at all. But nothing was up to her anymore. Her life was entirely out of her hands.

Walking back in, she saw both bottles of wine were empty and several members of the troupe slumped in their seats, confirming her earlier suspicions. She moved around them silently, collecting the plates in her arms. The bald man had started staring at her again, and she tried to ignore his gaze as much as she possibly could, though when she had reached him she felt his hands lightly graze her waist. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he remarked. Violet stared at him in shock, not knowing what to say. She didn’t expect to come out and be pawed at, and she looked over at Olaf. He was watching the two of them, a look of possessive fury settling onto his face. Violet gulped and moved her body away from the bald man’s touch. Still not averting his gaze, Olaf threw back the last remnants of wine down his throat and tossed the glass carelessly back onto the table. “Go get another bottle of wine” he slurred, and she nodded in response, picking up the pace to quickly leave the room.

It took her only a minute or two to fetch another bottle of wine from the cellar but by the time she had come back she noticed the bald man’s spot at the table to be empty. This unnerved her slightly, as she was still reasonably shaken up from his earlier comment but ultimately she tried to dismiss it, leaving the bottle with Olaf and taking the old ones up in her arms, making her exit to the kitchen to clean the dishes.

She turned the taps on and filled the sink with hot water, squirting in a couple of drops of dish cleaning liquid as well before depositing the stack of plates into the soapy water. She then reached out to retie her hair back with the loose curtain tassel and began to scrub away. Violet allowed herself to sink into the repetitive motions, finding them calming and a suitable distraction from remembering what had happened earlier that night. It did mean, however, that she had made herself vulnerable, and if she could have known that the bald man was sneaking up behind her right at that moment, she would have remained on guard for the whole night. 

She didn’t realise he was there until it was too late, until she could feel the grip of his large hand on her shoulder. Squeaking in surprise, she turned to face him, instantly being put on edge by his devious grin. “Do you need something?” she asked. 

“Oh, nothing, just wanted to see more of your pretty face, little rabbit” he replied, his voice low and husky. Violet tried to move away from him but he was quicker than her, using his body to force her between himself and the sinks edge. “Where are you going? Don’t be scurrying away from me, the fun's just beginning…”.

“Leave me alone” she snapped, trying to uselessly move him off her. He merely laughed and held her head back in response. “I don’t think so, pretty girl”.

Panic started to settle in her chest, and her mind blared with the sound of a thousand alarm bells, telling her to run, scream, do anything to get out of his clutches. _I can’t let this happen...not again_. She was almost about to open her mouth to yell but before she was able to she heard the sound of the man grunting and a crashing sound behind her as his weight disappeared off her body. She gasped out for air and swung around to see the bald man on the floor, groaning in pain. Glass was littered all over the floor and she saw Olaf, still clutching the neck of a bottle of wine in his hands, a murderous look cast across his face.

“If any of you ever think of touching her again, this is what you can expect” he said in a low and dangerous voice. The rest of the troupe had gathered in the doorframe, looking on in shock and paralyzed by the scene in front of them. Olaf adjusted his gaze towards Violet, and in the same low voice he commanded “Go upstairs to my room, and stay there until I arrive”.

Violet was frozen to the spot, unable to move out of pure fright for the situation she had found herself caught in. He’d saved her from the bald man’s advances but the look of incensed fury burned bright in his eyes, and she was terrified of what that could mean for her. She began to tremble, casting her eyes down towards where the bald men lay then back to Olaf. 

“Do I have to repeat myself? Go to my fucking room!” he roared, and Violet snapped out of her state of paralysis, carefully stepping over the glass and hurrying out of the kitchen as fast as she could. “The rest of you, get out. It seems I have to have a chat with my lovely girlfriend” she could hear him order as she raced up the stairs, and a moment later the troupe dispersed, eager as she was to vacate the area. 

She’d only been in his room once when she was picking up piles of laundry, but she remembered where it was. She tossed open the doors and ran inside, slamming them shut behind her. Looking around, she tried to see if there was any place she could hide - the space under the bed looked too tight a squeeze, and the curtains wouldn’t do much to cover her. Spotting the closet out the corner of her eye, she dove in and shut the door as best she could, leaving a slight crack so she could still see out into the room. 

“Violet!” she heard him call out from down the hallway, his footsteps becoming nearer. She tried to slow her breathing, make herself as silent as possible when the sound of the door bursting open ricochet through the room. There was a moment of silence as he presumably scanned the room for her, before she could see him move towards the windows, rifling through the curtains to try to find her. He stopped and directed his attention towards the closet and for a moment Violet held her breath. Olaf disappeared from her line of sight for a moment, and she almost thought she was safe when the doors of the closet were thrown open and her hiding place was exposed.

“There you are, little minx” he sneered, grabbing onto her arm roughly and dragging her out into the room. She stumbled on her feet and fell down onto the bed with a crash. No sooner than she had landed Olaf pounced on her, moving his legs over either side of her torso to straddle her. 

“What are you doing-” she began to say before she noticed him reach a hand into his pocket, producing a lighter. The flame flickered to life as he clicked the lid open, and Violet’s eyes shot between the flame and his face, the realisation of what he was about to do suddenly dawning on her. “No, please, don’t-” she begged before being cut off by the feeling of burning hot metal being pressed against her neck. She cried out in pain and fought against him, trying everything she could to wrestle free from his grip but to no avail. As quickly as it started, the cause of the burning sensation on her neck was removed and she whimpered as she felt the cold air rush against her burn. 

“So, not only did you think it smart to go against my direct orders tonight, you also thought it’d be wise to act indecently with a member of my troupe” he condemned, holding the lighter over her face as if to further threaten her. She looked up at him, tears stinging the edge of her eyes from the burning wound on her neck. “I had nothing to do with that! He had me cornered, I couldn’t escape!” she explained, hoping to placate him in any way. 

“And you expect me to believe that? You were eliciting him, weren’t you? I saw how you were acting around him at the table earlier” Olaf spat back at her. He wasn’t a reasonable man at the best of times, but right now he saw nothing but red. Violet had no idea where he got the idea that she was trying to seduce his associate from, but she wanted it gone quickly from his mind, lest she receive more scarring burns. 

“I was acting that way because he made me uncomfortable, not because I was trying to seduce him! Please, Olaf, get off of me!”.

“Don’t lie to me. For that alone I should slaughter your entire godforsaken family” he threatened. 

“No! Please, just, don’t hurt them. I wasn’t trying to disobey you, I’m sorry for not making the meal you wanted and I wasn’t trying to encourage him in any way!” she pleaded. He merely curled his lip at her in disgust and flicked the lighter on again, pressing it hard against her neck. Violet screamed, tears now falling from her blue eyes and onto her cheeks. It felt like he held it there for longer than the last, and soon she felt the burn pierce through her layers of skin. She wondered what degree of burn it was, and knew that she’d probably find out when looking in the mirror later. 

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Olaf removed the lighter from her neck and tossed it off to the side, the small metallic object becoming lost in the sheets. She let go of the breath that she didn’t realise she was holding, a small moment of relief when she thought the worst was finally over. Though that thought was short lived as Olaf started to tug at her nightdress, pulling it off around her shoulders and discarding it off to the side.

She almost considered fighting back, throwing a punch square to his jaw so she could scramble out from under him. But then where would she go? The doors were surely locked. Or were they? The troupe had left in a hurry after all, the front door might still be open. She could make a break for it and escape. 

Almost seeming to sense her thoughts, he grabbed at her wrists and pinned them further into the bed, effectively putting that idea to rest permanently. He’d undone his belt buckle in the time it had taken for her to consider throwing hands at him, and she could see his cock pressed against her inner thigh, causing her to look away in fear and disgust. 

“Now, Violet, are you ready to be a good girl for me? Show me how sorry you are for disobeying my orders?”.

Klaus was sitting at the desk in his room, his hands combed through his hair in frustration. He told himself to calm down, that the police had only opened the investigation into his sister and filed the missing persons report only four days prior. These things take time, he tried to remember, and it was still early days. But something inside him gnawed at him, an irrational feeling of dread and distrust in the local law enforcement. He felt so useless just sitting there, doing nothing while his sister could be out there. He remembered what his mother had said a few days before, the look on her face when he suggested that Violet might have been kidnapped. It was an odd expression, one he couldn’t fully read, but he was almost certain that his mother had at least a vague suspicion of what might have happened to Violet.

When his father had returned home that evening from the city, four days before, the entire family had sat down in the kitchen to discuss what should be done. Everyone unanimously agreed that they should call the police and press forward with a missing persons report. But Klaus tried to push further, wanting to know the answers to the things that Beatrice had said she was not at liberty to discuss. His father gave both Monty and his mother a knowing glance, something so fleeting you almost couldn’t catch it, before turning back to his son and saying that such matters weren’t concerning to him and weren’t particularly relevant in their efforts to find Violet. 

Klaus knew him to be lying, and had felt angry that they were holding something back from them. He tried to push it further, though the most he got out of them was a vague explanation along the lines of “we have our doubts about the fire being an accident, and we think it was deliberately set, but we’re not 100% certain”. 

The conversation was shut down abruptly, and Klaus was told to take his younger sister upstairs and put her to bed for the night. Reluctantly, he dropped the topic and followed their orders before skulking off to his own room to rest.

He didn’t know what he could do to help his sister from there, but he had to do something. The last few days that had taken the form of calling the police and asking for updates on the case, which was met every single time with an exasperated sigh and a “we’ll call you if we have any information”. He’d stopped himself from calling again that morning, not wanting to annoy them any further - he was probably distracting them from tracing important leads. Still, Klaus felt like he was failing Violet by just sitting there passively. There had to be a way to help find her from where he was now.

Suddenly, an idea sparked to life in his mind and before he knew it he was racing down the stairs and yanking the door of Monty’s Reptile Room open. “Uncle Monty, I have a favour to ask of you” he panted, catching the side of the door to lean against and fixing his glasses with his free hand. “Would you be able to drive me back to our old neighborhood?”.

Monty turned his attention away from feeding the glass enclosure of blue tongue lizards and raised his brow. “Well, I’ll be busy tending to matters here for a few hours and it is quite late, but I can take you in the next couple of days. What business do you have there, Klaus?” he asked. 

“I want to do a bit of my own investigation into what happened with Violet. See if any neighbors saw anything suspicious that night” he explained. He studied Monty’s expression carefully for any evidence of his thoughts on the matter, and Klaus was worried he’d brush him off, saying he should leave the investigative work to the police. Though when he saw Monty smile warmly back at him, he felt himself relax a little. “I don’t see why not. You don’t have much faith in the police department, do you?” he replied.

Klaus shrugged. “I just want to feel like I’m doing something helpful. I mean, if Violet really survived the fire, then she has to be out there somewhere. I just want to make sure of it myself”.

“Understandable, my boy. And between you and me, this city’s police force isn't exactly known for their competence. Like I said, I have some things concerning my reptiles that I need to tend to tomorrow but once I’m done with that I’ll take you into the city and help with your investigation. My assistant Gustav can take the reins from here” Monty said.

Klaus’ face lit up. “Really? You want to help?”.

“Of course I want to help! Violet is my family too, and the sooner we can have her back safely the better”. 

He looked at Monty with an expression of pure gratitude, and smiled at him brightly. “Thank you, Uncle Monty. I mean it, thank you so much”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update! this chapter took longer to write than expected


	6. Chapter 6

Violet stared at herself in the grimey bathroom mirror, a low sigh escaping her lips as she studied her forlorn expression, her eyes lingering on her neck were the series of burns inflicted by Olaf’s lighter were, the sweltering red blisters contrasting against her pale white skin. She tried to determine the extent of damage done to her neck, and although she couldn’t be entirely sure she was pretty positive that he’d given her second-degree burns.

She’d never had to deal with such a serious burn as the one inflicted on her the day before, but she knew what steps she needed to take in order to treat it as effectively as she could without seeing a doctor. First she’d have to rinse the burn under some cold water, to help the heat stop seething through her skin. Tying her hair out of the way, Violet twisted the taps on and leant herself down, moving to position herself under the stream of water rushing into the sink. When the first splashes of water hit her neck she cried out in pain, though she didn’t move from her position under the steady stream. The shock of cold water hitting her burn wore off after that, and she kept her head under the rush of water feeling more and more relieved from her pain as the moments went by, twisting her neck every now and then so she could cover the full scope of her injuries. 

After having his way with her and delivering another round of abuse on her small fragile body, Olaf had finally released her from his grasp and pushed her off to the side, feeling as though his method of punishment was thorough enough for his point to get across. She could still feel herself aching from when he’d pushed himself inside of her. Even though it didn’t hurt as much as the first time, with how violent and rough he was every subsequent time was still agonising and tortuous to endure in every respect. She’d learnt to try to zone herself out, to turn her mind blank when it was happening so to spare herself from feeling the full extent of her misery. 

He’d kept her in his room for the night, not wanting to let her out of his sight. She hadn’t wanted to look at him, so when he’d finally moved his body off of her she dove under the bedsheets and curled herself into a tight little ball, restraining any tears that were still forming in her eyes. Olaf hadn’t said anything else to her, her only being able to hear the sound of him locking the bedroom door before he’d laid down next to her and presumably fallen asleep. She wasn’t so lucky - after that night she felt she might never sleep again.

At some point she did drift off because when she awoke Olaf was gone and she was left alone again. It must have been late morning from the way the sun shone through the curtains, and she unwillingly rolled herself out of her cocoon of sheets and glided into the bathroom, feeling the cold floorboards against her feet. 

She didn’t have a timer on her, so there was no way of telling if it had been fifteen minutes or not, so when Violet felt that enough water had been applied to her injuries she switched the taps back off and raised her head to look at herself in the mirror once more. The burns looked a little less red than before, and the blisters weren’t as sore. Fortunately for her he hadn’t held the lighter to her skin any longer or else the damage would be far worse. It would probably heal properly in two to three weeks and mellow out without scarring too bad. 

Her next order of business was to try to look for some painkillers to dull the throbbing pain, and she dropped to her knees to rummage through the bathroom cabinet. She found a box of ibuprofen at the back and punched out two pills, tossing them down her throat and finishing it off with a gulp of water. 

If she had some antibiotic cream she’d use some but the bathroom didn’t seem to contain anything of the sort. She did find some bandages and gauze however, so she used those to wrap around her neck and under her forearm the way she’d seen it done in movies. When she was done she looked over her handiwork, and once she had determined the bandage would stay in place she left the bathroom in search of her white nightgown. She found it half under the bed, no doubt kicked there at some point the night before. Violet threw it on over her head and folded out the creases before taking a moment to stop and stare down at herself.

She couldn’t take much more of this. Every day seemed to be worse than the last, and she was having trouble holding out faith for rescue. She fought with herself tooth and nail not to give up hope, feeling like letting go of any would just be letting Olaf win. If he wanted to break her, then she’d do her best not to shatter. But she had to be realistic about things too: she couldn’t just wait around forever for someone to come find her. She was determined to make it out of there, one way or another, and with her resolve she set out to formulate a plan.

Her mind recalled the broken umbrella she had stumbled upon a few days before and how she’d be able to fashion it into a grappling hook with the right equipment. Her toolset was limited, but such limitations could never dull her bright and inventive mind. She’d find a way to make do. 

In order to create the grappling hook, she’d need to have a few hours to herself where she could work uninterrupted and without fear of Olaf catching her. She didn’t know when she’d get the opportunity but if she held out for long enough and made it a priority to try to not antagonise Olaf these next coming days, then something might come up that would enable her to work without distraction.

Once the grappling hook was made, all she’d have to do was toss it over the garden wall and climb up it. Though that still didn’t take care of Olaf. Violet thought about the many empty wine bottles strewn around the house, and figured if she could catch him off guard she’d be able to use one of them to knock him out. By the time he’d wake up she’d be long gone, either in the arms of her family or at the police station reporting his crimes against her. Which one she’d do first she didn’t entirely know, thinking that she’d cross that bridge once she got to it. 

She decided to wander downstairs to the kitchen in search of something to eat, hoping to evade Olaf for a few moments more before he appeared and gave her another set of tedious tasks. Though no sooner than she’d opened the bedroom door she was confronted by him, seemingly on his way to come check on her.

“You’re finally awake” he remarked, and Violet’s shoulders crumpled in response, her gaze averting to the floorboards below. “What do you want, Olaf?” she muttered. He said nothing for a moment, before grabbing onto her arm and leading her out towards the stairs. “Since you managed to complete the previous tasks I set you, I’ve decided out of the goodness in my heart that I will only give you one chore to complete today” he said.

She almost rolled her eyes at him, but was caught off guard by what he’d said. “What’s the catch?” she asked. There was no way he was about to be nice to her - whatever chore he’d picked out for her to complete would probably prove to be difficult and time consuming.

He scowled at her. “Do you really think that little of me, brat? I try to be nice and only give you one piece of work for today, and here you are trying to find an ulterior motive or hidden plot” he derided in a dramatic fashion, continuing to pull on her arm until they were at the back door of the house. 

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry. Just...what do you want me to do?” she asked tiredly. 

Olaf pulled open the large set of doors leading to the back garden and pushed her towards the dilapidated stairs descending down into the yard. “You’re to clean this entire yard from top to bottom - make it look nice and presentable, and you’re not to stop until I need you to come in and make dinner. I’ll be having one of my associates watching you, so don’t get any bright ideas” he instructed. 

Violet looked around at the state of the yard and immediately felt overwhelmed at the prospect of cleaning it all. “But this will take hours, even days to do…” she began before being cut off by Olaf. “Well, then I suppose you have your work cut out for you. Have fun, Miss Baudelaire!” he called before disappearing back into the house. A moment later, the man with the glass eye from the night before came out and positioned himself on the back stoop, leaning against the rotting wooden railing. 

She looked from him back to the yard and reached out for the tassel tied around her wrist. It was gonna be a long day.

He’d kept her busy for the next few days, the difficulty of each job she was forced to endure increasing. She’d bit her tongue and kept her head down, performing various frustrating tasks such as chopping wood for the fireplace and cleaning out random cupboards, and after he’d get one of his henchmen to escort her back to her room for the night. She began to wonder how long she’d have to wait for an opportunity to escape, though she’d prepared as best she could and gathered most of the objects she’d need together, stashing them under the bed and in the different empty drawers in her room. 

Sadly though, Violet would have to wait a little over two weeks from the infamous dinner party for a chance to escape. After the incident, Olaf had barely let her leave his sight, and being under his watchful eye didn’t allow for her to begin crafting her method of escape. His friends had come over again a few times since then, and every single time she was forced to sit by him and endure the evening with the troupe getting drunk as all hell. None of them had tried anything since then though, with any attention that was directed at her only occurring when Olaf specifically highlighted her presence, which wasn’t too often. Violet let herself fade into the background, perfectly content with being ignored. 

She’d made an effort not to incense him throughout these weeks, and in return outside of his usual routine of rape and abuse Olaf had mostly kept his hands off her. Her body ached every day when she woke up, and her breasts started to become strangely sore. She didn’t think too much of it, chalking it up to it being Olaf’s doing, and carried on with her usual itinerary of chores. 

The weeks passed, and the day where she was finally afforded some time alone came around on May 7. Though the day had begun dismally, with her being awoken late morning by a violent sense of nausea in her stomach. She groaned and sat upright in her bed, her arms wrapped around her midsection trying to curb the feeling of her churning stomach. She honestly felt like she was going to throw up.

Her mind ran over everything she ate the night before, trying to figure out if she’d accidentally eaten something expired or improperly prepared. That's what had to be causing her stomach cramps, right? Just a case of classic food poisoning. She briefly entertained the thought that it was something else entirely, but she brushed it off. It was just food poisoning, nothing more.

Another wave of nausea hit her right as she came to that conclusion, and she curled up into herself, digging her fingernails into her arms. If she was going to vomit, she couldn’t do it on the bed, so she picked herself up and made her way to the door as quickly as possible, attempting to restrain the feeling of bile rising in her throat.

She was too preoccupied with trying to find a bathroom that she didn’t look where she was going, and collided straight into Olaf as she was rushing towards the stairs.

“There you are, I was about to come wake you up myself” he commented, and she looked up at him desperately. In that moment, the swirling feeling in her stomach became even more violent and she couldn’t stop herself from hurling any longer, kneeling over as a stream of bile forced its way out of her throat and onto the floor, and regrettably, onto his shoe.

Olaf wrinkled his nose at her, his face settling into a scowl while he watched her heave, coughing droplets of saliva onto the floorboards. Once she’d finally gotten a grip on herself, she realised what she’d done and her eyes went wide. Slowly, she rose up to meet his piercing gaze and shrank into herself. “I’m sorry…” her voice warbled.

He stared at her in contempt, eyes shooting daggers and she braced herself for impact. The first strike came without warning, and was enough to knock her to the ground. She held out her hands in an attempt to try and break her fall but to no avail, instead toppling onto the floorboards, rolling onto her side. She tried to move herself up but he swung his leg around and knocked her down again, causing her to cry out in pain. It didn’t help that her nausea hadn’t even subsided, though thankfully she didn’t feel the urge to vomit again. 

“What was that for? I vomit on the ground and that’s how you respond?!” she whimpered, holding her arms over her stomach. “That, my little brat, was for ruining my shoes. I was coming up to tell you that I’ll be heading out for the next hour to run some errands. As usual, the doors and windows will be locked, so any attempt at escape would be pointless” he informed her, straightening his posture. “You are to clean up this mess and then go back to your room, understand?”. 

She tilted her head a slight bit to signify a nod, and content enough with her obedience, Olaf stepped over her and walked down the hall to his bedroom. “What’s got you throwing up anyway, Baudelaire? You better not be sick” he asked, disappearing off into his room in search of a new pair of shoes.

“Nothing! I’m not sick, I just...I just ate something that didn’t quite agree with me” she called out after him. She could hear him snort in response, and a moment later he walked out wearing a new set of worn out leather shoes. “What are you still doing here? I thought I told you to clean that shit up” he growled, and Violet leapt to her feet, running down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab the first cloth she laid eyes on. Even though she was still feeling ill, her mind buzzed when she thought over what he’d said. He was finally going out, leaving her the chance to create her grappling hook and further coordinate her escape plan. She knew she’d have to act quickly, as he wouldn’t be gone for long, so the moment she heard the door lock click and the sound of his car driving away she sprinted into action.

The first thing she did was hastily mop up the pile of vomit in the hall, as she thought that she might as well get that out of the way just in case she forgot later on. Violet tossed the dirtied cloth into the sink of Olaf’s ensuite bathroom and raced into her own room, yanking open the drawers where she’d stashed the long lengths of curtain that she’d managed to smuggle in. 

She placed it down carefully on the vast expanse of open floor, and scrambled over to the bed where she reached under and produced the broken umbrella, dumping it on the ground next to her, and grabbed for a screwdriver she’d found in one of the kitchen drawers. With all of her materials out and ready to be used, she settled onto her knees and reached for her loose tassel string, tying her hair up in a loose low ponytail and began to work.

It didn’t take too long for her to tighten the screws on the old umbrella, and she’d managed to rip off the old moth eaten fabric that was covering it. She positioned each of the metal limbs to point more inwards so that they’d catch onto the edge of the garden wall easier, and she fastened it in place as best she could with some screws and ripped tassel string. She then ripped up the curtains she’d found into something resembling a rope and tied it to the end of the umbrella with her trusty devil’s tongue knot. 

The grappling hook looked sturdy enough to her but she wanted to test it properly, just in case it needed any adjustments or smaller refinements. Gathering it up in her arms, Violet set out for the front foyer where she positioned herself underneath the stairs and tossed the hook up towards the middle landing banister. It managed to catch the edge just fine, and she tugged on the rope to make sure the knot was secure. To her delight, it was, and the grappling hook remained in place. Violet smiled to herself, the first genuine spark of happiness she’d felt in all those miserable weeks at Count Olaf’s and she ran up the stairs to unhook the contraption from the edge of the banister.

It worked, it’d actually worked. She didn’t want to get ahead of herself too much, but she was already starting to feel a small sense of relief at being able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. She was going to be able to get out of this wretched place and go home to her family. She beamed when she thought of being able to feel her mother’s embrace again, see her father’s smile and her brother and baby sisters' faces light up when she returned. She didn’t know where they were staying, but the information wouldn’t be hard to find. Maybe she’d go to the police first and report Olaf’s crimes, then they’d be able to take her to wherever her family was. Yeah, she’d do that, then she might also be able to get some medical attention on her burns and bruises. 

Impressed enough with her own plan, she immediately went to hide her new invention under the bed in her room so that Olaf wouldn’t find it. She’d cut it real close too, hearing the sound of his car pull up outside just as she’d disguised her invention. She did her best to make it seem like she’d been in there waiting for him to return, discarding her screwdriver and leftover scraps into one of the drawers. He’d come up to check on her, and to order her to go and clean his library. She followed his instructions without complaint, secretly in wait for the moment she’d be able to catch him off guard and knock him out.

That moment came later on after she’d cooked dinner for the both of them that night. He’d insisted for whatever reason that she dined with him in the main dining hall, and she’d sat there trying to ignore his stares. In a surprising move, he’d poured her a glass of wine alongside his, and she’d hesitantly taken it, not wanting to incur his wrath any further.

It was 7:30 at night, and Olaf had long since skulked off to the library to drink. She’d been kept busy scrubbing dishes, waiting for the moment where he’d be drunk enough not to notice her coming in. He’d already gotten her to fetch another bottle of whiskey for him, and she wondered how the man didn’t drink himself to death. She wished he would keel over from alcohol poisoning, so she was more than happy to supply him with copious amounts of liquor. She finished washing the last of the dishes and stared down into the murky depths of water, taking a deep breath. Anxiety bubbled below the surface, and she was terrified of what could go wrong. What if she didn’t hit him at the right angle and he just got a mild concussion? What if her invention failed? What if she did escape but got hit by a car afterwards?

 _Focus Violet_ , she told herself. _No use getting hung up on what-ifs. Remember what Mother used to say? Do the scary thing first and get scared later_. She grasped out for the empty bottle of wine next to her and looked down at it. One good swing is all it would take. 

Creeping out into the hall, she tried to listen out for any sounds, worried that Olaf might have left the library and gone elsewhere. She heard nothing, so she crept out further into the foyer, her hands holding onto the wine bottle with a steel tight grip. The closer she got to the room, the quieter she made her footsteps. She could see him reclining in an armchair faced away from her, drinking a glass of whiskey and seeming to be in a state of deep contemplation. When she reached the edge of the stairwell she fumbled a bit, stopping to catch herself on the railings before she could fall to the ground. She froze, scared that he might have heard her but he didn’t turn around, still lost in his own thoughts.

Once she decided she’d gotten close enough to him, Violet held the bottle high above her head and prepared to strike him. _Do it. Do it now while you still can. Get as far away from him as possible and don’t come back_ , her mind screamed at her, and she squeezed her eyes shut before taking a swing. 

Everything after that seemed to move so quickly. One minute she’d swung her arm down, preparing to hit Count Olaf straight across the head, the next minute her arm was caught midair as she heard the shatter of the wine bottle hit the floor. Opening her eyes, she looked up and saw Olaf standing before her, his hand clasped around her wrist and his eyes cold and dark. 

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” he derided, watching her eyes widen as her heart rate picked up, the realisation of what had happened properly sinking into her. “I thought after all this time you would have realised to not push my hand”.

She struggled against his hold, causing him to tighten his clutch around her. “Let go of me!” Violet cried out. Olaf simply snickered in response and snatched her chin in his hand, lifting her up to face him. “You really haven’t learnt anything, have you, Miss Baudelaire? I would have thought after the little lesson I gave you with the lighter you’d learn to not test me, but again, you seem to have proven yourself to be stupider than I give you credit for”.

“Get away from me, you vile monster!” she screamed, and he dug his fingers into her skin, making her wince in pain. “Perhaps heat wasn’t the correct method of dealing with you. Maybe I need to opt for something...frostier” he menaced in a low, wicked voice, and almost instantly alarm bells began to ring in Violet’s head. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, though she was entirely afraid of what the answer would be.

Olaf let out a low chuckle and pulled her after him, setting off in the direction of where the cellar was. Violet had no idea what he had planned for her, and she tried to decipher what he could possibly have in mind. Would he lock her in the cellar for days without food and water? No, that didn’t seem harsh enough. She wrestled against him the entire time but it only caused him to grasp onto her harder, and she yelped at the feeling of his nails breaking into her skin. 

He pushed open the cellar door and the minute Violet looked around the room everything clicked into place. She remembered seeing a large freezer off to the side and wondering every single time what use Olaf could have for it every time she saw it. She’d even opened it once to see if there was anything in there but found it to contain absolutely nothing. She’d never given anymore thought to it but now she realised exactly what he was planning to do with her.

She shook her head and muttered out a series of no’s as he led her towards it, yanking open the lid. “Let’s see if a few hours in here will teach you a lesson” he snarled. 

“Olaf, please, no!” she cried out but he ignored her, shoving her into the depths of the freezer. She gasped as she hit the cold metal sides, and she tried to raise herself up so that she could climb out of there but he was faster than her, slamming down the lid and just narrowly missing her head. “Let me out of here, please!” she pleaded, and she heard him laugh as he snapped a padlock over the lid’s clasp. “You’ll be let out when I see fit. In the meantime, be sure not to catch frostbite in there” he called out.

“Please, let me go! Please!” she screamed but he’d already left, slamming the cellar door shut behind him. Violet leant back against the walls of the freezer, already starting to feel the cold air settle in around her. It was dark in there, and she couldn’t see anything. Tears started to well in her eyes, but she tried her best to fight them back. It wouldn’t be particularly wise of her to cry at that moment, considering the situation she was in. 

She didn’t even bother trying to push against the lid, knowing that with the lock on it there was little chance of her getting out without him releasing her, and who knew when that would happen. Would he leave her there to die? Violet shivered. No, he had no reason to kill her. He wanted her alive and suffering, he’d made that much clear during the weeks spent there. How long could she hold out in there anyway? The cold air was already nabbing at her fingertips, and she realised that the freezer box she was in was most likely airtight, so there wouldn’t be a large supply of oxygen in there. She made a conscious note to take shallow breaths, in any attempt she could to try and conserve the air she did have.

Violet grabbed at her knees, trying to nudge her legs underneath her nightgown - it didn’t do much to keep her warm but it helped a little. She tried to run through her knowledge on refrigerators and freezers, trying to recall if she ever read anything about how long it would take for someone to die in one, and whether or not she’d be more likely to succumb to suffocation before freezing to death. However, she couldn’t entirely remember, the frosty chill made it hard to think. 

_Please don’t let me die in here…_

There was no way of telling the passage of time from her place of confinement but every minute felt like hours to her. Slowly but surely, the cold chill began to seep into her bones and begin the process of freezing her inside. She curled up into herself as much as she could, even though it made her back ache. Not being able to see a thing, she couldn’t tell from looking if she’d developed frostbite but it certainly felt like she had - as it was now she barely felt her toes and fingers. At some point she’d stopped trying to mentally beckon Olaf into letting her out and started to prepare herself for her imminent death. It wasn’t supposed to be like this: she was supposed to live a long, happy life alongside her friends and family, graduating high school, going off to college, doing whatever she pleased with her life. 

Before being imprisoned, Violet had never given much thought to her own mortality but when she did she never could have imagined it all to have ended like this - beaten, bruised, alone and locked in a freezer. She almost cried at the thought, but she had to accept it as it was, how unfortunate her life turned out to be, and right then, leaning back against the metal walls with her face buried in her knees, she finally felt ready to accept her own death. 

That’s when he’d finally shown up.

She thought for a moment that she was imagining the sounds of someone fumbling with the lock outside, and that the light filling the room had meant she’d passed on. That she’d look up into it and everything would stop. Instead, she saw Olaf, rubbing his eyes with one hand and holding the lid of the freezer box with the other. 

“Punishments over, you can come out now” he slurred, and Violet was absolutely speechless. Relief flooded through her, and she couldn’t move any faster to uncurl herself and leap out of the dreaded freezer. She yelped slightly when her toes hit the floor, still not being able to feel them, and she stumbled against the wall, her body waking up from being stuck in the one position for who knows how long. With the presence of light, she could now fully see her fingers and toes had turned a strange bluish grey, the sight of which frightened her immensely.

“How long did you keep me in there for?” she whispered as Olaf slammed the lid down and turned his attention back towards her. “No idea, I wasn’t keeping track. Couldn’t have been more than four hours” he grumbled, leaning against one of the racks of wine.

Her eyes widened. “Four hours?!” she said.

“What are you making a fuss about?” Olaf spat.

“I could’ve died in there!”.

“Shut up, you weren’t going to die in there. Stop being so dramatic. If I wanted you dead I would have already killed you myself” he slurred, trying to move over to her but briefly losing his balance and falling against the freezer. He was somehow drunker than he had been earlier, and how the man hadn’t managed to pass out or give himself alcohol poisoning by that time she couldn’t comprehend. “Help me upstairs, brat” he groaned. 

She sighed and moved herself towards him, placing herself underneath one of his arms. He leaned against her, and she almost tripped herself from feeling his weight on her but she managed to steady her balance and began leading him out of the cellar. He wasn’t making it any easier for her, leaning against her like that. “You're gonna have to help me out a bit, I can't do this on my own. Surely you can move your feet a little?” she requested. Olaf rolled his eyes at her but obliged, and slowly she guided him out towards the main part of the house. Her body was beginning to warm up a little and she was relieved to be away from the cold, but she still couldn’t entirely feel her toes. She shivered at the thought of there being permanent tissue damage there, and prayed that her case of frostbite wasn’t too bad. 

Once they were upstairs and in his bedroom, she let him go and gently nudged him towards the bed. Instead, he suddenly twisted around and snatched her up violently against the wall, using his leg to pin her down.

“Olaf, what are you doing?” she cried out. He grinned at her in response and leaned closer to her, so close that she could smell the liquor on his breath. “Shhh, come on, Violet. Show me what you’re good for” he purred. Pressing her further against the wall with his body, he slammed his lips against hers in a sloppy and forceful kiss. Violet squirmed, aiming to wriggle free of him but he refused to let her go, kissing her harder.

When he finally did remove his mouth from hers, she could only manage to whimper out a soft “Please…”, her eyes filled with sorrow. He merely smirked at her and moved to pull her dress over her head. She tried to duck away from him in that moment but he was faster, even while completely inebriated, and he forced her further into the wall. “Just give me what I want, Violet. Be a good little girl…” he slurred. She mustered up a low sob as he nudged her legs apart and used his free hand to undo his pants, pushing them down to reveal his erect cock. 

She shook her head ever so slightly, and Olaf chuckled at her before grabbing at her thighs to lift her up and pushed himself inside her, groaning at the feeling of her around him. “Stop it...please, stop it…” she whispered, though he ignored her as always and rolled his hips against her, ramming his cock into her over and over. She gave up on trying to fight against him, instead attempting to dissociate herself entirely. Her limbs fell limp as he fucked her roughly, tears that she’d been holding back for hours spilling against her rosy red cheeks. 

Olaf dug his fingers into her thighs and moaned, not letting up with his violent thrusts. “You like this, Violet? You like being my little whore?” he groaned, his eyes sparkling with a devilish glint, his lips split into a drunken grin. She pressed her eyes shut and turned her face away from him. Something began to sting between her legs, and she whined the deeper his cock thrust into her. 

Not long after, he moaned against her neck and came, his body tensing against hers. A moment later, he pulled off and staggered against the floor, half-falling back onto the bed while panting in exhaustion. He shot her a drunken smirk before his body went limp and he collapsed. Violet didn’t dare move until she heard the sound of him snore, and she relaxed a bit, relieved at him being finally asleep. Carefully, she crouched down onto the floor and pulled herself back into her nightgown. Her bones had mostly warmed up now, apart from the lingering freezing bite against her fingers. 

Moving into the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror with a sense of dread. She didn’t notice it earlier but her lips had apparently gone blue from being stuck in the freezer, as there were a few leftover patches of ice on her pink lips. Sighing to herself, she ducked her head out into the bedroom to check that Olaf was still asleep and, once determining that he was, vacated the room and rushed straight down the hall to her own bed. Once in there, she slammed the door shut and moved her weight against the dresser, seeing if she could move it enough to the left so that it would block the door from opening. She did manage to nudge it over, and once she felt entirely secure in her surroundings she dove under the blankets and sobbed uncontrollably for hours on end.

It was only an hour's drive from Uncle Monty’s to their old neighborhood, but it felt a million miles longer to Klaus. Every second that went by felt like forever, anxiety and anticipation festering in his gut. He shouldn’t be this nervous, he knows, and if anything he’s more eager to arrive at his destination and gain some new information. Every lead uncovered was a step closer to finding Violet, and at this moment in time, they needed to chase up every lead they got.

His and Monty’s first trip back to their old neighborhood had been a massive disappointment. Even after going around interviewing everyone who had been home at that time of day seemingly nobody had been up to witness whatever caused the Baudelaire fire. Most of the neighbors had been asleep during that time, and anyone who had been awake only woke up after the fire had started raging across the street. 

This had sunken his spirit greatly, and after the police had called to inform them that they themselves hadn’t dug up any new leads, Klaus began to feel himself slip back into that depressive state he’d been in when they first arrived at Monty’s. Though this time, instead of entering a melancholic slump, he’d stayed up all hours of the night trying to look for new information that could help, or waiting for the police to call with some form of good news. 

Days turned to weeks, and eventually at his mother's insistence he’d stopped falling asleep on the couch next to the telephone and made sure to go upstairs for bed every night. He was just processing grief and trauma, she told him, and it’s normal to feel this way but he needed to take care of himself too. He knew she was right, and she didn’t want him worrying about him on top of Violet too, so he’d tried to distract himself from the case. Even if his mind was still on his sister and her whereabouts, he tried to redirect focus to spending time with his family, and even though he still lay awake at night wondering where Violet could be, his mood had improved slightly.

Then, on May 5, the phone rang. 

He’d picked it up out of habit, silently hoping it to be relevant somehow to Violet’s case. And to his surprise and joy, it was. The man on the other end introduced himself as Jules LeStrande, a prominent member of the banking community and one of their neighbors. He said he had seen something on the night of the fire that might be relevant to them, and invited both of his parents over to his house to discuss it further. He’d already contacted the police about his tip but wanted to inform Beatrice and Bertrand personally too, having got their contact info from his employee Arthur Poe at Mulctuary Money Management. Klaus had been delighted at this news, and had immediately passed on the line to his father when he’d entered the room. Bertrand agreed on a meeting date, May 7th to be exact, and thanked him for coming forward. 

Two days wasn’t too long of a wait but Klaus could hardly contain himself. He was hoping that the information Mr. LeStrande offered would be big enough to blow the case wide open, but even then deep down he knew it was probably something small and inconsequential. Still, any lead was valuable and the fact that someone had seen something after all was reassuring to him - his sister wouldn’t end up as another cold case relegated to the files room of the city police department. 

Monty had insisted on driving them there, as eager as the rest of them to uncover this new information. Briefly, Bertrand had considered just having him and Monty go but Klaus pushed to join them, arguing that the whole family should be involved in this. His father shrugged and said he couldn’t argue with that. His mother hadn’t joined them, instead choosing to stay at home to take care of Sunny. It surprised Klaus that she hadn’t wanted to come but after seeing the weary look in her sleep deprived eyes he felt best not to mention it. 

Time ticked by slowly, and when Monty finally pulled up into the start of their old street, Klaus almost felt compelled to leap from the car right then and there. He didn’t follow such a compulsion of course, being far too sensible to do such a thing. When the car stopped in front of the LeStrande residence he took a moment to glance out across the street at the burnt remains of their own home, the lot now cordoned off with bright yellow police tape. 

His moment of reflection and contemplation slipped away, and pretty soon he was out of the car and on the front stoop of the large fancy house with his uncle and father. Bertrand pressed the buzzer next to the front door and a moment later they were greeted by a middle aged woman with dirty blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. “In here please, Mr. LeStrande will see you in a few moments” she directed, waving them in behind her. The trio stepped inside the foyer and followed the woman to a parlour room off to the side. Klaus shifted himself onto the couch and smiled at the woman, who returned the gesture with a thin smile of her own then turned to leave the room.

There was a heavy silence in the air as they sat seated around the low level coffee table, only being punctured by the ticks of the large grandfather clock in the corner. Unconsciously he began to fidget with his hands, looking towards the door for when LeStrande himself would make an appearance. They didn’t have to wait long, as a moment later a tall and refined looking man strutted through the open door. He was still wearing his business attire, and his jet black hair was immaculately combed back. He definitely looked like the type of man to have a lot of money, certainly respectable enough to manage a large bank. Mr LeStrande grinned and strode forward to take Bertrand’s hand in his own. “I’m glad you could make it. I’m Jules LeStrande, head of Mulctuary Money Management. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Mr Baudelaire” he said.

“The pleasure’s all mine. I have to say, I was surprised to hear you’d called but when I heard it was about Violet I knew this couldn’t wait” Bertrand replied.

“I agree wholeheartedly, Mr Baudelaire” he said before turning his attention to Monty. “Monty! It’s been a few years, hasn’t it?”.

“It certainly has, Jules. I do wish we could have met up again under more fortunate circumstances but seeing how things are right now…” Monty trailed off, his normally jovial temperament being replaced with a sombre tone.

Klaus’ eyes darted between the three men, his small mind running into overdrive at what he heard. “You and Uncle Monty know each other?” he asked. Monty’s expression turned to one of unease, though he tried his best to hide it. “Well, Klaus, Jules and I were good friends back in the day, but we lost touch about ten years ago” he explained. 

Klaus furrowed his brows in response. “Why did you two lose touch?”.

Monty waved his hand at him dismissively. “I’ll tell you some other time, it’s not important right now. So, Jules, you said you had some information regarding Violet Baudelaire?” he turned back towards Mr LeStrande, who had positioned himself on one of the armchairs closest to the door and was nodding solemnly in response. “Yes, I do believe I have something that may be of use to you all. You see, I was out of the country these last few weeks on a lengthy business trip and only got back this past Tuesday night. Being overseas, I didn’t hear about the fire until I returned home” he recounted. 

He was momentarily interrupted by the blonde woman from before bringing in a tray of tea, and he nodded at her appreciatively once she placed it down on the coffee table. After she’d left, he sat forward and picked up the teapot in his hands, pouring tea for the rest of them while continuing his tale. “The flight I had to catch was leaving in the very early morning, 4:00 am to be exact, so I was up at around 11:30 at night. You know how airports are with customs and all, so I wanted to leave the house as early as possible in order to check in. I’d gotten all of my things together and packed the trunk of the car, mostly focused on driving out of there but I distinctly remember looking across the road to where the Baudelaire mansion was and seeing a car parked out in front of it”.

Bertrand blinked in astonishment, picking up one of the teacups in his hand. “Someone was outside? At that time of night?”.

LeStrande nodded in response and placed the teapot back down. Klaus took the opportunity to reach for one of the cups of tea, not really being fond of tea himself but not wanting to be impolite to someone who was helping them out. Bringing the cup to his lips, he shuddered slightly as he realised there was no sugar present in the tea at all, making it as bitter as wormwood. He looked around at the tray to see if there was a sugar bowl present but saw none, and thought about asking but decided against it. 

“I didn’t think too much of it at the time, thought maybe someone had pulled over to lookup directions, but thinking back I couldn’t recall seeing the driver looking at a map. It was dark, even with the street lamps on, so I didn’t get the best look at who was in the car but it was definitely two men, just waiting there. Like I said before, I was on a bit of a time crunch to get to my flight so I left soon after, but when I heard about the fire and Violet’s subsequent disappearance I thought it would be best to speak up on it. It may not be much, but I hope my account can be of use to you” LeStrande recapped.

Klaus didn’t know what to say. His suspicions had been semi-confirmed: there were two shifty men waiting outside their house in the late hours of the night, and even though nothing was concrete enough to point fingers at something within Klaus knew that those two men had taken Violet away. “Do you remember what the car looked like?” he blurted out. 

LeStrande placed his cup of tea back on the trey and rubbed his chin between his fingers. “Black, sleek looking, but also kind of worn out, like it was a couple of years old and hadn’t been serviced properly since it was bought. Didn’t see the license plate though, and even if I did I probably wouldn’t remember it anyway - I mean, who does?” he revealed. 

He took a mental note of Mr LeStrande’s words, and reminded himself to write it down in one of his notebooks later. Even if he was just a kid, he wanted to gather any bit of information possible just in case the police missed anything in their investigations. Finally, he had something that he could call a lead: a suspicious vehicle seen outside his own house just hours before the fire broke out. It couldn’t be a coincidence, it just couldn’t. First the cops couldn’t determine the precise cause of the fire, then his sister goes mysteriously missing, and now this? 

Klaus placed the tea cup back on the tray, not wanting to drink anymore of the bitter tea, and clasped his hands together in his lap. “Mr LeStrande, what did the police have to say about this when you called them?”.

“They said they’d look into it, but that was a few days ago at this point. I have no idea if they’ve begun following it up or not”.

“Well, considering the calibre of the police department in this city I wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t even started” Bertrand muttered. 

LeStrande nodded at him. “Too often it seems corruption and incompetence runs rampant in the areas that are meant to keep us safe. You can’t rely on anyone it seems” he mused, to which Bertrand threw back the last dregs of tea down his throat and redeposited the cup onto the table.

There was a way he looked at his father, a certain expression of knowing that he’d seen his father and mother share before. It was obvious that they didn’t think Klaus would catch it, and truth be told he almost didn’t, but it was there and it reignited a burning curiosity within him. He remembered how weeks before his mother had mentioned that there were reasons why she initially suspected Violet had survived but never elaborated on them, and the way they’d all looked when Bertrand revealed that he had a theory that the fire was deliberately lit. 

Clearly there was something bigger going on here, something lurking deep in the shadows that they were desperately trying to keep him and Sunny from knowing about. He wanted to know why they couldn’t just come right out and tell him, especially if it had something to do with Violet. Unless they had their own doubts on it, or that something was threatening enough for them to want to keep their mouths shut. 

As none of them were too eager to discuss their suspicions with him, he was clearly on his own in terms of researching that in particular, but resolved that one way or another he’d find out exactly what was going on behind the scenes, even if it meant going behind his parents and Monty’s back to find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here have an 8k word chapter
> 
> shoutout to my friend dearest_solitude for helping me out with the timeline stuff cuz i fucked up on something briefly


	7. Chapter 7

It was early morning, so early that the sun hadn’t even had a chance to rise when Violet found herself face first puking into the inside of a toilet bowl. She’d been like this for an hour now, her legs crumpled under her weight, her heaving violently every five seconds. It wasn’t constant thankfully - she’d usually feel the worst of it for ten minutes and then have some reprieve, until with a strong and violent force her nausea manifested itself again and she’d be back to hurling up bile. Five days onwards, and even though most of the remnants of her being locked in the freezer had faded away, the nausea she had first started to experience around May 7 still hadn’t subsided. It was on and off - waking her up at an ungodly hour in the morning where she’d scramble down the hall to the bathroom before she ended up collapsing down on the floor heaving uncontrollably, or interrupting her daily cleaning duties to force her to lock herself away in the bathroom. No matter what time it struck, it was never pleasant to deal with, and she wished every single day that maybe that would be the day it finally decided to stop.

Even though it made things more difficult for her, she always consciously tried to choose whichever bathroom was furthest away from Olaf at any given point in time, not wanting him to hear her gagging and punish her further. He hadn’t noticed her condition at all yet, despite the meticulously close eye he’d been keeping on her. Even if he did, it’s not like he’d take her to the doctor. She didn’t even bother asking, imagining him to reply with something along the lines of “you’ll be seen by a doctor only if your eyes start bleeding”. 

Violet tried to decipher why this was happening, why her body was so desperate in increasing the misery of her already dismal circumstances. At this point she could no longer blame it on food poisoning, no, it had to be something more. Was she sick? If so, then how on Earth did she become sick? And what was she sick with? She put a pause on that thought as she dry heaved again, feeling her stomach swimming.

An alarming thought crossed her mind, one she’d previously considered earlier that week but had dismissed. But now, looking over, it made sense. Violet felt her heart rate increase the more the pieces fell into place. She thought back to the night Olaf had kidnapped her, when he’d first violated her so cruelly. Being caught up in the trauma and pain of the moment, it didn’t register to her that he hadn’t used any form of protection. And it had been more than a month of being in captivity and she still hadn’t gotten her period. 

She shook her head and felt her stomach dip even more, her nausea becoming stronger. She couldn’t be pregnant with Count Olaf’s child, she just couldn’t. There had to be another explanation for this. The thought ran around her head like a dog chasing its own tail, repeating over and over. If she really was pregnant, then what could she do? It would mean there was even more pressure on her to escape now. If she did manage to free herself of Olaf, would she be able to have an abortion? The thought of having to give birth to the child of the man who had caused her so much pain and suffering made her ill, though she didn’t know if she had it in her to terminate a pregnancy. And what if she never did escape him, what if she couldn’t hide it from him and he decided to kill her for it? She swallowed and sat back on her heels, staring down to the floor as she decided what her best option was.

_You don’t have to wait for him to kill you. You could do it yourself. Then you’d be free of this misery._

The thought startled her, though she found it equally as tempting. If she killed herself, then she’d be able to be free of his torment. Olaf wouldn’t have the sadistic pleasure of breaking her fully, and she’d be able to finally put an end to this tragic tale of woe. But something in her just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear the thought of giving up like that, since really that’s what suicide would be: admitting defeat. She’d have her sanity, but she’d never be able to afford herself the chance of seeing her family again, or the hope of being rescued and able to move on with her life, with her future. She had ambitions, once upon a time, things she wanted to experience. If she died now, she’d never be able to do any of those things she dreamed of. 

Not to mention if she passed on, Olaf would probably refocus his attention on killing the rest of her family. He’d made it known well enough that he’d wanted to slaughter the lot of them after the fire had failed to kill them but was only holding back because of Violet - keeping their lives on a string to control her was in his better interest at that moment. She felt if Olaf was too busy making her suffer that he wouldn’t try to go after her family again, and for that reason she decided against suicide. If her being there was the only thing keeping them safe his wrath, then she’d sacrifice herself a million times over.

She still had no intention of spending the rest of her days rotting away in that manor, and resolved that she’d still attempt to escape once Olaf had let his guard down again. At the moment his control had tightened, with him having various members of his troupe supervise her during her cleaning duty and relegating her to the bedroom she stayed in afterwards, locking the door in place. 

After running back to her room and sobbing into the blankets for hours on end, she had managed to pass out, and the next morning had carried on as if nothing had occurred the day before. She’d noticed once she’d been returned to her bed that night when she checked to see if her grappling hook was still hidden away that it had mysteriously gone missing. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Olaf or one of his associates must have seen it and confiscated the invention. It was a blow to her plan to be sure, now she was back to square one in terms of getting out of there, but she was determined to find another way. Maybe she could try and find where he kept the keys to the house and steal them away in the night, running free towards her family.

Another wave of nausea interrupted her train of thought and she threw up yet another heap of watery vomit into the toilet bowl. Her mind returned to what had set her on that path of mind in the first place and she sighed to herself. Surely, she was overthinking all of this. She wasn’t pregnant. She’d probably contracted something from that grimey house of his. Yeah, that was it. She’d get better in a few days, and then she could get back to focusing on how to escape. 

Sighing to herself, she pushed herself off the floor and flushed the toilet before tiptoeing out into the hall and back to her own room. At the very least Olaf didn’t decide to give her any early wake up calls, though that had to do with his own penchant for sleeping til noon rather than anything resembling kindness. If she got back to bed now she’d be able to catch a few more hours of sleep before she’d be forced to go endure even more difficult and annoying chores. Once she’d reached her bedroom, she felt a quick moment of relief that her violent nausea had subsided and slumped down into bed, covering herself head to toe with the sheets. 

It felt like from the moment she’d shut her eyes she had stepped immediately into the later hours of the day, like no time passed at all from when she’d first drifted off to the very second she opened her eyes. She felt the cold air rush in around her as she felt the covers being ripped from her body, and she groaned when she turned to look up at whoever had interrupted her sleep.

“Get a move on, you lazy brat. My troupe is coming over later and there’s lots of work that needs to be done” Olaf snarled at her, watching her blink twice, sitting up in bed looking at him. 

“Again?” she groaned, to which Olaf rolled his eyes upwards at her. “Yes, again. You’ll be serving dinner at 6:00, after that you’ll be seated next to me for the rest of the evening” he instructed before leaning down to the floor to grab a white shopping bag, which he then tossed on the bed next to her. “You can choose whichever one of those to wear for me tonight, but you will wear one. I don’t think I have to remind you of what happens if you don’t”.

Violet dragged the bag towards her, her brows becoming furrowed in confusion. “You...bought me clothes?” she asked. Why would he go out of his way to do something for her? In all her weeks there he hadn’t done a single nice thing for her, so where was this sudden generosity coming from? It was incredibly suspicious, and she was almost scared to look inside.

“Why do you sound so surprised? Don’t you think I’d want my lovely little Violet to be dressed up for such an occasion?” he said mockingly. Unamused by the sarcasm in his voice, Violet opened the top of the bag cautiously and peeked inside, and after seeing what was in there her heart sank.

From what she could tell, the bag contained a few pieces of lacy lingerie, each set skimpier than the last. Along with the lingerie the bag contained three pairs of thigh high stockings and suspenders. Violet felt herself become sick at the thought of dressing up like this for him, and she wanted nothing more than to throw the bag down and storm past him, out of the house and into the street below. But to her infinite frustration, that was not possible. 

She could see his wicked smile looking down at her, knowing fully well how uncomfortable the idea made her as he leaned back against the doorframe watching her remove each set of lingerie from the bag, studying them as if they were some sort of dangerous artefact.

Her eyes darted from him to the item of apparel in her hands, and she mustered up an incredulous “You can’t be serious?”. 

Olaf shrugged. “Like I said, pick whichever one you want, but if I see you come downstairs tonight wearing anything else it’ll be the end for your pathetic family” he replied, turning to leave but stopping himself at the edge of the door. “Oh, and you still have your regular chores to do today. You don’t get out of cleaning duty just because my troupe is coming over. Good luck, Miss Baudelaire!” he added in a scornfully mocking tone before disappearing out into the hall.

She looked back down at the skimpy clothes that were spread out on the bed around her and felt her spirit fall even further than it already had. As if it wasn’t already awful enough slaving away for him and his ghastly friends, now he was going to make a spectacle of her in front of them. But if she wanted to keep her family safe, she had no choice but to don one of those sets of lace and bear the brunt of humiliation like an obedient little girl.

Tossing the bag aside, she stood up and walked over silently towards the door and out into the hall. She knew exactly where to start with her daily itinerary of chores - she hadn’t managed to finish reorganising his assortment of stage props that he’d accumulated over the years, and he said the other day that he wanted that done by the end of the week. If she put her mind to it and didn’t have any other distractions, she’d be able to finish that off by late afternoon, just in time to duck away and begin cooking dinner for the theatre troupe. 

Sorting through the piles of boxes was a difficult and tedious task but it helped keep her mind off the evening ahead. She had figured out yesterday how to divide each section of his stuff into easily manageable piles, and devoted her attention to sorting through each one individually. She’d gotten exactly halfway through the other day before she had to go make dinner, so coming back to it was easy enough for her. The hours went by, and somewhere close to 3:00 she had finished sorting the whole room. Wiping a line of sweat from her forehead, Violet commended herself for getting the job done faster than she had expected. Now she had an extra hour to work on dinner and figure out which of those embarrassing outfits Olaf had bought for her that she’d wear.

On his list that he’d given her, Olaf had been very particular about what dish she needed to serve that night, not wanting a repeat of the infamous roast beef incident. He’d gotten her all the ingredients that she’d needed, which was a plus for her, so at least he wasn’t being entirely unreasonable in his requests. Tonight he’d wanted her to make medium rare steak, and she complied, setting out into the kitchen to get a start on the main dish for the evening.

During the other times his troupe had come over she’d figured out a general schedule to stick by, to keep them from heckling her too much. The way these evenings would usually go would be like this: they'd arrive around six, and five minutes afterwards Violet would bring in a bottle or two of wine to placate them until the food was ready, fifteen minutes later she’d serve dinner and sit by Olaf for the rest of the evening until they left, which was usually around midnight to two in the morning. So far, outside of Olaf’s usual grouchiness she hadn’t had any complaints. She felt degraded the entire time that she was there, being forced to sit next to him like some sort of pet to him. Maybe pet wasn’t the right word, since people usually treated their pets with kindness and care. Slave would be a better descriptor for her.

When she finished the steaks, she took a moment to go upstairs and change into the attire that had been requested of her that evening. Looking over all of the options, all of them seemed equally humiliating to wear but she chose the one which covered the most skin - a lacy black dress with a see-through skirt that cut into a V pattern down her chest and a black ribbon to tie around the back, complete with a pair of matching black panties. From the moment she put on the set of lingerie she already started to feel her cheeks burn red, and when she looked at herself in the mirror her face flushed with shame. 

Her gaze wandered to where the clusters of bruises were around her body, now mellowed out into a dark black and yellow. The finger marks from when he’d dug his nails into her shoulders had finally started to fade a bit, and the burns on her neck had almost healed completely. She looked like a beaten up sex doll, which she almost laughed at, considering that’s what Olaf definitely saw her as - a glorified maid that he could paw at and abuse to his hearts content. Shaking her head, she felt tears prick the edge of her lashes as she looked down at the floor. How had everything gone so wrong in her life?

She added on a pair of black thigh highs and a garterbelt to keep them up, after which she decided that Olaf should be pleased enough with her shame and went back to cooking the rest of their dinner. She hoped she did a good enough job to please them: she’d never made any sort of steak before, and she was still very much a novice when it came to cooking. However, every meal she’d made so far (aside from the aforementioned roast beef incident) hadn’t been poorly received, so she hoped that the quality would remain the same for that night. Even if it wasn’t, maybe Olaf would be a bit more merciful towards her since she was wearing the lingerie he bought.

The sound of guests coming in filled the house, and Violet ducked out to the cellar to fetch a bottle of white wine. As she was picking up the bottle of liquor off the top shelf, her eyes wandered to the other side of the room where the freezer was, and she felt herself shiver at the memory of being trapped in there. She’d been so close to death that day, all because of Olaf intercepting her escape attempt. She didn’t even know where she’d gone wrong, or how he’d managed to hear her being as drunk as he was. She did recall stumbling a slight bit at the stairs, but that hadn’t made too much noise, right? Unless Olaf predicted that she’d try to knock him out and had his guard up the whole time. Whatever way she looked at it, it didn’t become any clearer how she’d been caught but she loathed the outcome immensely.

That was why she hadn’t really tried anything since - he’d be anticipating it at the moment, and would be ready to catch her and deliver more unimaginable torture to her. If she could just hold out for a bit longer, wait until he was distracted with something else or believed that she wouldn’t try anything again, then she could sneak off behind his back and formulate a new plan. She’d seen a phone in the library a couple of weeks back, though she didn’t think to use it earlier. When Olaf’s grip inevitably faltered on her, the first chance she got she’d run to the phone and call the police. Then, hopefully, they’d come arrest him and rescue her from that miserable house.

She left the cellar in a hurry after that, positioning herself in front of the set of double doors that led to the dining room, staring down at her feet. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath in an attempt to swallow some of the anxiety that was bubbling beneath the surface, and in a way, prepare herself for the upcoming display of shame and ridicule that she would have to go through. Taking one final moment to gather herself, Violet lightly pressed down on the door handles and walked in, keeping her head down the entire time. Olaf was the first to notice her, his face showing a slight bit of annoyance that she hadn’t picked out one of the skimpier options. “Here she is, the lady of the hour” he prattled, raising his empty wine glass and gesturing towards her. 

Everyone around the table followed his gaze and turned to see her standing in the middle of the doorway, arms wrapped around the bottle of wine as if it were a lifeline. They all laughed maniacally at her, with the bald man wolf whistling to top it all off. She felt her cheeks turn a deep shade of red as she lightly padded her feet towards them, feeling utterly embarrassed and humiliated in that moment. She went for filling Olaf’s glass first, seeing how he enjoyed her discomfort, and she wanted to puke with the way the rest of his troupe was jeering at her. Still, she held her head up and tried to ignore them all, weaving in between them to fill up their glasses as fast as possible. It all went by in a blur for her, and soon she was back in the kitchen preparing to plate up the food and walk back into the frey of it all. 

Balancing the platter in her hands, she walked back out and made her mission to get this evening over and done with as quickly as possible. Violet deposited the plate onto the table and went to leave before feeling Olaf’s hand grab around her wrist. “Not so fast. Don’t you remember what I said earlier? You’re to stay right here until I tell you to leave” he reminded her, and she stifled a sigh, moving over to perch herself on the side of his chair like she’d done so many times before. She could see Fernald out the corner of her eye, snickering at her apparel, and she almost wanted to drop dead right there. 

For whatever reason, he didn’t let her eat that night. Whenever she reached out to grab a bit of food he slapped her hand away, so she just sat back and watched them eat while listening to Olaf talk about one inconsequential topic after the other. When they’d all finished, he shoved her off and ordered her to go clean the dishes, then to go straight upstairs. She felt a sense of relief at his dismissal, thankful that the evening was over and she wouldn’t have to endure wearing those skimpy clothes any longer, and so couldn’t move fast enough to grab the dirty plates and silverware. She could feel them staring into the back of her head with their eyes but she didn’t care: the way she planned it she’d finish cleaning the dishes and then seclude herself upstairs for the rest of the night, changing back into her much comfier nightdress the first chance she got. 

Violet went through her usual dish cleaning routine, squirting a little too much dishwashing liquid into the sink than needed and dumping the piles of plates in there. Then, she began to scrub off the small bits of food scrap that coated them, becoming lost in how methodic it all was. Her mind wandered off to her family, and she wondered if they thought about her, if they were trying to figure out where she was trapped. Unless they still thought she had died in the fire, then they wouldn’t come looking for her. How long had it been since she was kidnapped? She counted the weeks in her. It had been almost five weeks, and nobody had tried to come save her. Maybe they still didn’t have any information. There wouldn’t have been many witnesses to the fire, being so late at night. 

She got a sense that when she first had woken up and wandered out into the hall that the fire had only just been lit, as she only began to feel the heat of the flames against her skin the further she went downstairs. Olaf didn’t waste any time in snatching her up, not even giving her much time to process the traumatic image of seeing her home up in flames before dragging her off into the night. Would anyone have seen that? She hoped that someone had, but considering her luck it was likely no one saw the moment she got hoistered off by Count Olaf. 

Her haze was broken by the sound of Olaf calling out for her. “Oh Beverly!” his voice rang out, and for a second Violet almost forgot about the cover name he’d given her. She placed the dish she had been cleaning back into the soapy water and dried her hands, hoping that he was just going to ask her for another bottle of wine so that she could get back to dissociating. Though something about the tone of his voice when he called out to her put her on edge, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

She stepped back into the dining room and almost instantly she felt something to be wrong. The troupe was staring at her again with something she could only describe as perverted glee, and Olaf was smirking into a half empty glass of wine at her arrival. “What do you want, Olaf?” she mumbled, and he waved her over. “Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend, dear? I thought you were supposed to be a nice girl”. 

Instead of responding to him with a spitfire insult like she so wanted to, she silently moved to stand next to his position at the head of the table. “Is there something you need? I really ought to be getting back to cleaning”.

Olaf grinned and turned to his friends, all of which were watching her expectantly. “As I was saying, we’ve been so focused on matters of business that we haven't been able to sit back and take some time to enjoy ourselves, haven't we?” he said, shooting her a devious look and holding out his hand to lightly caress her chin. She squeezed her eyes shut at the feeling, wanting to disappear into thin air right then, and he chuckled darkly in response. “A few of my associates were asking about your many talents, my dear, and it got me thinking - what’s better than regaling them about tales of your promiscuity?”.

Violet’s eyes snapped open at those words, her mind already racing to figure out exactly what he meant by that. He wouldn’t...he wouldn’t do that, in front of all of them, would he? The look on his face seemed to suggest otherwise, and Violet gulped before stumbling out a quiet “What?” in response to his rhetorical question. She could feel herself start to shake, and even though she had a general idea of what the answer would be, it still came as a shock to her.

“Showing them of course” Olaf replied, refocusing his attention back towards his group of guests. "Who thinks Beverly here should put on a little show for us?"

Violet couldn't believe what she was hearing. It didn't take a genius to catch what he was suggesting but she still felt shocked by it, and she looked around the table to survey the rest of the troupe's reactions - all of them were just staring at her with that same devious smirk that she'd seen Olaf wear so many times, so they wouldn't be any help. Her cheeks were stained red with shame, and she wanted nothing more than for either him or herself to drop dead at that very moment. When she finally felt ready to face him properly, she muttered out a meek “Can I please leave now?”.

Olaf’s lips broke out into a toothy grin, and right then she knew that he wasn’t done with her for the night. “Why, my dearest? We’re just getting started” he said. She blinked up at him and widened her eyes. It felt stupid to ask, but she wanted to be absolutely certain of what exactly he was demanding of her. “What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly. His eyes sparkled, and he faced the rest of his troupe. “Well, as it so happens, I do have a little something in mind. Who here wants her to give a bit of a...personal performance for us?” he announced dramatically, and already the others were nodding in ecstatic approval. 

It was her worst suspicions confirmed. She started to back away from the table and into the wall behind her, her face growing pale in fear. “You...you want me to masturbate in front of your friends?”. 

He rolled his eyes at her and motioned for her to come closer.“I would’ve thought that was obvious given my choice of wording, but yes. Now, get up on the table” he commanded. 

“I'd rather die than do that here, for you or any of your degenerate friends!” she spat. 

“Get up on the table” he ordered through gritted teeth. “Or would you rather the alternative?” he added, raising his brow at her knowingly. She knew exactly what he was insinuating, he didn’t even have to spell it out for her at this point, so she redirected her stare to the floor, padding her feet forward towards the large dining table and hoisting herself up onto the edge. She sat there for a few minutes, trying to talk herself into doing this in front of so many people when she saw Olaf roll his eyes at her and click his fingers. “Hurry up, stupid girl. The sooner you put on a show, the sooner I’ll let you back upstairs”. 

Swallowing a sob, she held back her tears as best she could and croaked out “Please...I can’t...not here…”, her cheeks aflame and burning hot. 

Suddenly he slammed his fist down on the table and looked up at her, the growing frustration plain in his shiny eyes. “Have I not made myself clear? Let me remind you of what’s on the line, brat. It would be very easy for me to leave right now and slaughter your insipid family. Do as I say, and I’ll spare them” he yelled. Violet jumped at the sound, and cowered into herself. His temporary flare of anger died down after that, and he recomposed himself in his chair. “Take off your panties and spread your legs, I want to see you” he ordered in a more even tone.

Violet sniffled, tears flowing down her face and dripping onto the table below as she hooked a finger into the side of her skimpy underwear, sliding them off her figure and placing them next to her. She then moved to reposition herself so that her legs were spread open, feeling her face glow red from the humiliation of exposing the most intimate parts of herself to relative strangers. _Close your eyes. Don’t look at them. If you look at them it’ll only make it harder._

She inched a finger towards her centre and trailed her hand lightly to where her clit was, letting out a small gasp as she rubbed the pad of her finger over the sensitive nub. She tried to remove herself from the room, pretending she wasn’t about to get herself off in front of a group of vile and disgusting people, but it was hard to purge the reality of the situation from her mind. 

She continued to trace her hands over the flesh around her clit, moving in slow circles. Her breath hitched as she hit a particularly sensitive spot, and although she tried her best to stifle it she couldn’t help but let out a low moan. She could hear Olaf snickering beside her, no doubt watching the display with a sick twisted sense of delight, though she tried her best not to focus on him and concentrated back on herself, moving her fingers faster. She did her best to ignore the feeling of a dozen eyes staring straight into her, her face becoming even more flustered as she worked her hands across her clit, whimpering desperately. 

Soon enough, she felt her breath become heavier, shallower, not being able to contain herself as she felt her pending desire mounting, shooting through her body and causing her to shudder. She hated how good it felt, and she hated that she was being forced to entertain a room full of strangers in such a way. Shame and embarrassment mixed, and she picked up the pace, moving her fingers faster so that she could just get this all over with. Her desire was granted as she felt her orgasm tremble through her small body, her back arching as she leant back against the table, gasping out for air. For a split second she forgot anyone else was in the room with her until a slow clapping sound broke the illusion. Opening her eyes once more, she looked over to where Olaf was sitting and found him looking at her with lust filled eyes. “Who would have thought you’d have that in you?” he smirked. “Tell me, did you enjoy getting yourself off in front of a room full of people?”.

She didn’t know what it was about those words, or what exactly triggered it at that moment, but something in her broke. Immediately tears sprang from the corners of her eyes and she cried out in agony, burying her face into the palm of her hands and dissolving into a tearful mush. The troupe had started to laugh at her pain, which only increased the intensity of her sobs. Olaf himself leant forward and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s all this for? Feeling ashamed of yourself, are you? Feeling embarrassed that my entire troupe saw the way you looked while you were touching yourself?” he mocked, moving closer towards her. 

“Why...why are you doing this?” she cried out, staring straight down into the table so she wouldn’t have to see his self-satisfied grin at her torment. “Because it’s fun” he laughed, leaning back into his chair and waving her away. “You’re free to leave - go upstairs to your room or whatever” he dismissed, though she didn’t move, feeling she was rooted to the spot she sat in. The realisation of what she had to endure had fully processed through her mind - his troupe watched her masturbate. They’d become aroused by her mistreatment and watched on in delight, ignoring the clear distress evident on her face. What had just gone down, everything she'd been forced to do, she knew it would haunt her for the rest of her life.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? Go upstairs, brat” she heard him growl but she still would not move, wailing loudly into her arms. It wasn’t like she wanted to stay there: if anything, she wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and hide herself away forever, but for whatever reason she couldn’t move her legs. It was as if she’d been glued to the spot, unable to move at all. Violet heard Olaf cursing under his breath and the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, followed by him painfully yanking her hair out of the way and grabbing onto her neck. 

“Let go of me! What are you doing?” she screamed but he slapped her across the cheek. Crying out from the sudden pain, she felt him pull her down off the table and onto the floor with a dull thud. 

“If you’ll all excuse me for a moment, I need to have a private conversation with my girlfriend” he called out behind him, dragging her out of the room by her hair. Violet dug her teeth into her lips, trying to suppress her whines and cries from being tugged so hard. The next few minutes were a blur - one minute she was downstairs in Olaf’s clutches, the next she was up in her room being thrown onto the bed. 

She tried to sit herself up using the back of her arms but he had pounced on her, holding one arm over her neck and reaching into his pocket for something, which turned out to be a syringe filled with unidentifiable liquid. He looked between her and the tip of the needle, squirting out a bit of the liquid at the top like the way doctors did in the movies. Being under his hold, Violet could barely move her head, or really any of her body so her only option was to mouth out a barely audible “Please…” and look up at him with pleading doe eyes. 

“Maybe this will shut you up for a bit” he snapped, and in one swift movement he jabbed the edge of the needle into her forearm. Violet screamed in response, feeling the sharp metal pierce through her skin forcefully enough to leave a bruise. She usually wasn’t afraid of needles, and had always been good about getting her shots as a kid, even though they'd hurt but this was far, far worse. In fact, she could have sworn that he’d hit her bone somehow. 

Her vision started to cloud over as he pressed the needle of liquid into her vein, and it didn’t take her long to realise that the syringe probably contained the same drug Fernald had used to sedate her all those weeks ago. A part of her felt relieved at the thought of passing out - she’d wake up in a few hours anyway, and any time asleep was less time being miserable and suffering under Olaf’s wrath. Plus from what she’d figured out Olaf preferred her to be conscious when he raped her, the element of sadism in seeing her suffer being what he’d once described as “absolutely invigorating”. He wouldn’t bother with her if she was unconscious, not when he already viewed her as wholly belonging to him. So in a way, it was almost a mercy when she began to slip into the dark, only being able to see a form of dizzying static and haze. 

Klaus was frustrated, for a multitude of reasons. One reason was because of the lack of sleep, though to be fair he didn’t really want to sleep, instead trying to use that time to uncover new information on the case. Another and perhaps more pressing reason was what he’d heard second hand from his mother’s conversation with the Chief of Police three hours before. 

They usually called to check in, and give updates on any new leads. Though this particular discussion had left a rather bitter taste in everyone’s mouth, Klaus’ especially. The chief said they were chasing up a lead in the Hinterlands area and had begun searching around there. Beatrice had been taken aback, asking why they weren’t trying to follow up on the witness testimony Jules LeStrande had given them. Surely, even without a number plate they could run a description through the city's automobile registry? 

What the police said in response basically boiled down to this - they were still looking into things surrounding that tip, but there had been a slight paperwork error and the process had been slowed down. Trying to compose herself, Beatrice had pressed on, asking why they thought Violet would be out in the Hinterlands area instead of somewhere already in the city when the police chief had said something that had shaken her to her core.

“Mrs. Baudelaire, I don’t mean to be callous, but statistically with missing persons cases if the person in question hasn’t been located in the first 28 days of searching, the probability of finding them at all drops dramatically. It’s usually around then that we start looking for a body”.

Klaus didn’t hear what he’d said until after his mother had already hung up but he did see the shock in her eyes and the way her knuckles whitened when she gripped the receiver tighter. “You have absolutely no tact, do you?” she replied in a cold voice, and after a moment more of what he guessed the police chief to be backtracking over what he said, she hung up with a quick and frosty “goodbye”. 

Neither of them could believe what the police chief had said. How could he? They all knew the possibility that Violet would never turn up alive was entirely likely deep in their hearts, but that isn’t something you just say to someone, especially not in such a blunt and tactless manner. He wasn’t surprised at the police’s utter incompetence in handling this case, he’d read about it happening countless times over: pretty girls going missing and turning up dead in ditches, with everyone shaking their heads and saying “If only there was something we could have done to stop it”. That’s why he was so intent on doing his own investigation: with his researching skills and sheer determination, Violet had a better chance of turning up alive and coming home. And it was certainly better than just doing nothing.

He thought back to that afternoon when they’d left LeStrande’s house, and how before they’d gone his father had rather unexpectedly asked for him to leave the room so him and Monty could have a private chat with Mr LeStrande.

The request had mystified him at the time, as usually neither of his parents were one to send him out of the room while the adults were talking, often including their children in discussions. He didn’t want to press it though, sensing it was important, and had left the room but lingered behind after the doors had been closed. He tried to make out what they were saying through the walls but to no avail - everything came out muffled. He could only just make out a few words, including “Violet”, “fire” and “schism”. The first two meant something to him, Violet being his missing sister and the fire most likely referring to the one that destroyed their entire home, but “schism” had left him stumped. What on Earth were they talking about? What “schism”?

Klaus knew from all of his time reading that a schism was a word that meant “a split or divide between two strongly opposing sides of a party or sector, usually caused by a difference in opinion or belief” but without knowing the context of what the schism was referring to he had no clue of what it could mean. He remembered how LeStrande had greeted Monty like an old friend, and what Monty had said about them losing touch ten years ago. Why was he so vague about it all? And why had he looked uncomfortable saying that? The way they’d all shared that brief look with each other, the one they thought Klaus wouldn’t catch, seemed to signify something greater, something that ran far deeper than just Violet going missing.

He’d searched through Monty’s house to see if he could find anything that his parents or uncle were hiding, but hadn’t managed to locate much of anything. The most he’d come across was a torn scrap of paper containing a string of nonsense that he’d found at the bottom of the wastepaper basket in the Reptile Room. He’d been disappointed, but unsurprised that he hadn’t been able to find much. After all, if you want to keep something a secret it’s best not to leave that thing lying around. Still, he’d studied the paper over and over, trying to make some sense of the one thing that could laughably be called a lead before giving up and throwing it off to the side of his desk. 

Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling above, thinking about what the police chief had said. He didn’t want it to be true, and had looked up the actual statistics on finding missing persons and had actually found the stats to be a lot bleaker than even the police chief had initially said - the chances of finding someone missing alive and well after 72 hours dropped largely, with the chances decreasing slightly more every subsequent day. It was disheartening to hear, and it also brought the possibility of Violet turning up dead to the forefront of his mind. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t. She had to be alive out there, trapped somewhere and unable to reach them. Klaus didn’t even know what they’d all do if she turned up dead.

Pondering on the possibility had sent him off into a rabbit hole again, and he turned over in bed and slammed his eyes shut. _You’re getting yourself worked up. Violet isn’t dead. She’s out there somewhere, she has to be. Even if the stats are bleak, there’s always a chance. Even if it’s been a month, she has to turn up alive. She just has to._ Sighing, he figured it best to try and get some sleep, though his mind was alive and racing, piecing together everything he knew so far. He couldn’t stop it, so he attempted to relegate it to the background and focus on falling asleep. 

Five minutes passed, or maybe more, he couldn’t really tell, but an idea went off in his mind, blazing brightly through him and causing him to almost want to slap himself in the head for not realizing it sooner. Of course! The scrap of paper wasn’t filled with nonsense, it was in code. He didn’t know what code it was, but figured the best place to start on finding out would be Monty’s own personal library. It was late, and everyone would be asleep right about now, so it would be the perfect time to try and go through his books and decipher what code it was. Carefully, Klaus slipped out of bed and pulled a pair of socks on, making sure to keep his steps as quiet as possible as he crept over to his desk to grab the slip of paper in his hands and out of the room and down the hall to the staircase landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters are just gettin longer and longer aren't they?
> 
> EDIT 10/09/2020 12:07 PM: Some of my readers have informed me of the similarities of a scene in this chapter to another Violaf fic. While it was never my intention to steal or ripoff in any way, shape or form I will go over things tonight and alter some lines if they're too similar (or possibly just rewrite/cut the whole scene entirely idk yet). Just wanted to let y'all know and if you have any concerns comment about it or come yell at me on tumblr (same username as here, just with an S tacked on at the end). Rest assured, my plans for this story go in a VERY different direction from that other fic, especially next chapter once things really start to pick up the pace.


	8. Chapter 8

Violet stood with her back against the wall, her fingers scratching lightly against the wood, only making enough noise that she could hear them. She was dressed back in her white nightgown, having practically torn off the degrading lingerie Olaf had forced her to wear the moment she’d been roused from her sedated state. That whole incident had only occurred two days before, and everything in her screamed to wait a little longer, to try and hold out for a better opportunity. But she couldn’t wait any more. This house, the torture, his damn smug and diabolical grin whenever he saw her suffering - she couldn’t take it anymore. There was a time for waiting, and there was a time for action, and even if she could have picked a better moment to do this, she had to take a gamble and just go for it. Even if he did catch her, her call would set off alarm bells throughout the police department, and they’d almost surely come check if they heard her disappear off the line. It was their job, after all.

She ducked her head around the corner to where she knew the telephone lay, beckoning her as it had every time she saw it since she first came across it during her cleaning rounds about two weeks back, hidden away behind a pile of junk and gathering dust. Though she did retrieve the device at the time to polish off the mountains of dust coating it, placing it beside Olaf’s record player, she never used it. Mostly because she’d put so much stock already into her own escape plan with the grappling hook that she figured it unnecessary, and embarrassingly enough as it was to admit, it didn’t entirely occur to her that she could just call the police herself. And when the realisation did dawn on her, well, that had already been after that night in the freezer and she wasn’t willing to be put through something like that again. 

She slowed her breathing, twisting her head back down to stare at her feet, focusing her eyes on the beaten up pair of satin black slippers she wore. They used to look as clean and perfect as the day her mother had bought them for her, now after using them as her only footwear for five straight weeks they’d transformed into a sorry state. She listened out for any signs of movement, anything that would allude to Olaf coming downstairs or one of his associates being around. She’d made sure before that he was preoccupied with something or other - she’d seen him go up the stairs towards the tower earlier that morning, and had discreetly poked her head up to see him looking through what appeared to be a pile of old and faded photographs. He’d be out of the way for the time being, enough time for her to make a secret call to the authorities for help.

There was no more time she could take waiting, now was the chance. _Just go. Call the police, tell them that Count Olaf has you captive, just fucking go!_ Taking a last deep breath, she tore around the corner into the library, making sure her footsteps were both as swift as a falcon but also quiet and soft against the wooden floorboards. Being there for so long, she’d managed to memorise which ones creaked and were therefore important to avoid, so when she’d reached the table the phone was sitting on, she felt a massive weight start to lift off her shoulders. Not only had she made it there undetected, she’d finally be able to contact someone who’d be able to rescue her. Cradling the receiver in her hands, she punched in the number for the emergency line and held her breath as she waited for someone to pick up.

The dial tone stopped, and a moment later the line was filled with the voice of an older man. “911, this is Officer Peralta speaking, what’s your emergency?”.

Violet noticed then she was shaking, her nerves clearly getting the best of her. Closing her eyes, she focused on just trying to get what she needed to say out. _You’ll be alright. Tell the police what happened, they’ll come investigate and see you locked up here, and then you’ll be safe. Just breathe a little, ok?_ “Please help, I’m being held captive” she whispered, controlling her volume of voice as much as she could.

“Are you able to tell me where you’re located?” the officer asked, which made Violet become aware of the fact that she had no idea where Count Olaf’s house actually was. She knew what the outside looked like thanks to her brief sojourns outside in the backyard, but not of any precise location or street name. She remembered back to the night he’d first taken her there and how he’d roughly shoved a blindfold over her eyes. He always seemed to be two steps ahead of her in this cruel and twisted game of his. 

“I-I don’t know. It’s a really big house, a manor almost, it’s really derelict…” she replied, running through her mind and revisiting every glimpse she’d gotten of the outside world in that time, no matter how brief it was. Whenever she looked out the windows she saw that the house wasn’t too far from the city centre, as she could see the looming grey buildings of the city a little bit of a ways behind the rows of colourful houses. Olaf’s own place of residence seemed to stick out on the block, his dark and poorly maintained chateau of misery in contrast with the much nicer and more suburban style houses that lined the street. 

“Who’s holding you captive? Have they told you their name?”.

“Yes! His name is Count Olaf. He’s trapped me here for weeks and has been both abusing me and threatening me into doing things for him. I’ve tried to escape but he keeps catching me and doing more horrible things!”.

There was a slight noise on the other end that sounded vaguely like a “hmmm” and before long the officer responded with “Ahh, him. We’ve had Count Olaf in our database for a while, mainly for questioning related to various arson attacks, so we know his address. Is he around right now or are you alone?”.

Violet gulped. “A-Alone, but he’s upstairs and he could come down at any minute!” she stressed.

“We’ll send over a car to check the place out as soon as we can, in the meantime keep yourself safe, Miss” the officer reassured, and she wanted to cry out in joy right then and there. She didn’t though, stifling any sound that emitted from her mouth as best she could. She was just about to respond when the sound of a door opening somewhere near the front of the house broke her concentration, and she felt her eyes grow wide in panic. She froze as she heard footsteps storm through the house, stuck in a trance of sheer terror. Managing to break herself away from her paralyzing fear, she turned back to the phone and mumbled “Please, get here as fast as possible, please-” when she was unceremoniously cut off by the receiver being snatched from her hands.

She didn’t want to see who had snuck up behind her, though she had no choice but to face them. Shaking even more violently than she was before, she swivelled around to see the Glass Eye man grinning down at her menacingly, holding the receiver of the phone in his grip. “What do we have here? Olaf’s little housemaid thinking she can sneak off and try to escape again?” he taunted, slamming the phone down with enough force to make the table rattle, which in turn caused Violet to react by shrinking away in fear. He snatched her up by the wrist and pulled her off her place on the floor, hearing a small yelp emit from her as she tried to regain her balance. 

“Well, we’ll just have to see what your master says about that” he sneered. She glared at him, though not as strongly as she could have once mustered, being both too frozen by fear and still in the midst of processing what had just happened. “He’s not my master” she retorted. The Glass Eye man just continued to smile in that same terrifying way, shifting his weight to drag her towards the stairwell. “Don’t touch me! Let go of me! Let go!” she cried out, stumbling behind him as he led her up towards the tower room where Olaf was. 

She continued to protest, even if his grasp on her tightened with every demand thrown at him. He stopped just short of the trapdoor leading up into the tower room where he knocked against the hard wooden surface. “What do you want? I thought I made it known that I didn’t want to be disturbed” she could hear Olaf grumble from the other side of the door. 

“Boss! I caught your little kitchen maid trying to use the phone. I thought it would be best to bring her up”.

The trapdoor opened with a crash, and soon she could see Olaf scowling at her from above. “Well, well, well, thought you could try and slip past me?” he sneered. Violet leaned into the wall, watching him descend down the stairs and waving his henchman off of her, taking her arm in his hand. “No matter how many times I teach you, the lesson never seems to sink in. Are you just stupid, or is your spirit really that hard to break?”.

“You won’t get away with this. I’ve told the police. They’re coming here, they’re gonna find me and it’ll be the end for you!” she spat out, feeling a bit more emboldened by the fact that her rescue was imminent. Olaf’s expression grew darker and his hold on her became tighter. “You little snitch. I guess I’ll have to punish you again, do something that’ll really get my point across” he growled, lording over her. 

“Your point being?” she asked, though after she said such a thing she instantly regretted it as he started to lean even closer, moving his face only inches away from hers, so close that she could smell his liquor stained breath.

“That I am not someone who’s threats should be taken lightly” he hissed, starting to pull her down the stairs. A part of her felt a bit annoyed at being constantly dragged around like a ragdoll but she was far busier anticipating what exactly he could have in mind for her. Would it be quick and painful like the lighter situation? Or would it be long, drawn out and slow, like when she was stuck in that godforsaken freezer? Her mind could think of a hundred different ways that he could make her suffer, and of course, none of them were pleasant. 

He dragged her into his bedroom and threw her off against the bed, and for a moment Violet thought he was going to jump on top of her and rape her again but he didn’t, instead opting to slam the door shut, locking it, then storming off into the ensuite bathroom that was adjacent to the room. She blinked in confusion. That’s it? He just...threw her down on the bed and then stormed off? That didn’t make any sense at all. He said he was going to punish her, so what’s the point in just locking her in there without doing anything more?

The sound of running water filled the room, the sound of which caused her heart to skip a beat. What was he doing? She craned her neck to see him taking his hands off the edge of the bathtub taps, only just able to make out the image of water rushing out into the tub that she’d cleaned again just days before. Her blood ran cold as she realised what he was doing, and she dove to her feet and towards the door, banging her wrists against it in a fruitless attempt to try and get it to open. She knew it wouldn’t, no, it was locked, and banging against it accomplished nothing but she didn’t know what else to do. Was she just meant to wait there for Olaf to begin torturing her? It was pointless, but still, slamming her body up against the door made her feel like she was doing something, that she wasn’t just sitting around being helpless, and maybe, by some godly miracle, the lock would dislodge and the door would swing open.

She kept at it with her frantic banging and crying, feeling her body ache the more she pressed it against the door. For once it wasn’t Olaf inflicting this sort of damage, she was doing it to herself. Stumbling back, her eyes darted towards the window and an idea came to her. Running over to the vanity table in the corner, she picked up a random object and threw it against the window. Regrettably, the item didn’t break any glass and simply rebounded off the wall and onto the floor with a crash. 

As expected, the sound of objects being flung around had summoned him back into the room, striding forward to seize hold of her by the waist. “You little brat. You’re only making things worse for yourself” he grumbled, painfully dragging her away into the ensuite bathroom. She twisted around to see the bathtub was almost filled to the top, her heart rate picking up at the sight of it. At the back of her mind she was almost surprised that the tub had managed to fill so quickly. He threw her against the floor with a thud and went to turn the taps off, the sound of water thundering through the pipes ceasing almost instantaneously. She’d hit her head against the edge of the bathtub when he’d thrown her down, so she was already disoriented enough when he reached out to grab her by the neck and position her forward and facing down into the vast expanse of water below. Ordinarily, she would have fought against him, but the dull ache in her head had occupied her attention until she was staring into the bathtub, just a moment too late. 

Violet didn’t anticipate for him to plunge her head down into the water, so she didn’t think to take a deep breath and hold in what air she had, and when she did think of such an idea she was already flailing under his grip and gasping out. She felt like she was crying but she couldn’t tell: she couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of her struggling underneath Olaf’s hand. She kept trying to push herself up but he held her down, overpowering her once again. She realised too little too late what a mistake it had been to open her mouth in the first place once she started to feel the effects of being held under without air - she already couldn’t breathe for one, and her head felt like it wasn’t even connected to the rest of her body as stars began to dance across her vision. She’d once read a book where this happened, nasty and cruel schoolyard bullies dragging their victims into the bathrooms and holding their heads under in the toilets until they’d decided to drag them up for a moment of reprieve and to prevent them from actually dying. She remembered reading that page over and over and wondering how someone could be so cruel.

Olaf was most likely doing the same thing to her, and sure enough just before her vision started to fade entirely, her head was yanked up out of the water, air rushing through her lungs the moment she’d been pulled away. Gasping out, she felt his fingers run through her hair and his nails dig deeper into her. When she thought the moment was over, he struck again, slamming her back down under and into the depths of the tub.

She’d anticipated this one a little more, and so she’d held her breath at the last second before she’d been plunged in. A memory flickered across her mind of something she saw on TV once, a PSA run by the local government to warn against the dangers of child drowning, the message specifically emphasized how little time it took for someone to drown completely: only 60 seconds were needed. She wondered if Olaf was counting the seconds, or if he just held her under for however long he felt appropriate. She knew he still wanted her alive, but with how careless he was towards her during the freezer debacle made her skeptical that he wouldn’t end up accidentally murdering her one these days. 

The water was gone once more, and this time when she straightened up against his vice grip, she felt his breath tickle the edge of her ear as he leant closer towards her. 

“When will you learn, Baudelaire, not to push my hand? I can anticipate your every move, I have you under surveillance twenty-four hours a day, and yet I still catch you trying out these little stunts! I _own_ you, Violet. You’ll have to accept that eventually” he spat. She shivered at the feeling of having him so close to her, pressing her eyes shut and taking in a gulp of air.

He threw her down into the water again, over and over and over, each consecutive time seeming to be longer than the last. Several times she felt like she was slipping out of consciousness entirely, whether from slowly beginning to die or just merely fainting from the shock of torture she didn’t know, and honestly, either option worked for her. But the cold water rushing against her face and up to her neck snapped her back every single time. She was starting to feel dizzy from being tossed around so much, and her head didn’t quite feel all there. If she somehow survived Olaf’s treachery and lived out the rest of her life she wondered what sort of long term effect all of his torture would have on her body. She already knew that she’d be living with a boatload of mental anguish and trauma that would take years of therapy to resolve, but the physical toll was unclear, and a bit more terrifying to her. 

Eventually, he stopped dunking her head into the bathtub and pulled her aside back into the bedroom. Her wet hair stuck to the edges of her face and she blinked away the drops of water still hanging from her lashes, gasping out gratefully for every breath she managed to take. It was over now. He’d made his point, and soon enough the police would come find her. Olaf would be arrested and she’d be taken to hospital, where she’d recount every vile and disgusting thing he did to her during those five weeks of absolute hell. The promise of rescue was comforting if nothing else at that time. 

Olaf murmured something that she didn’t quite pick up, and he fiddled with the lock on the bedroom door while still keeping his hand fastened around the edge of her nightgown, tugging onto the garment to lead her out into the hallway. Violet assumed that he was taking her back to her room, no doubt to lock her in there for her misdemeanours but they passed it entirely, instead going down the stairs and stopping at the edge of the landing. A look of bewilderment crossed her face, and she was about to open her mouth to say something when she saw him pull out the same syringe from the dinner party a few days ago, again filled with the same sedative drug. Before she could even think to protest, the needle was stuck into her arm and the liquid injected into her, after which Olaf pulled out the syringe roughly which prompted Violet to squeak out in pain. 

Already feeling the fog of the sedative descend over her brain, her muscles relaxing against his hold, Olaf only had to give her a light shove when he opened a secret compartment under his stairwell and she immediately fell right in, her body crashing against the edge of a wall. The last thing she remembered feeling was the thickness of the dust coating the floor she lay on and the light leaving the small compartment as he slammed the door shut. 

He slammed the cupboard door shut and waited for a second to see if he could hear her stumble around in there. As expected, he was only greeted with silence, evidence that the sedative had worked exactly as intended and rendering him of one less nuisance to deal with. A part of him was thoroughly chastising himself for not keeping a close enough eye on her that day - he should have pulled her up into the tower room with him, or locked her away in that room of hers so she wouldn’t be able to cause any trouble. Olaf had incorrectly assumed that one of his henchmen would keep an eye on her while he spent his time up in the tower contemplating and reminiscing on times long since passed, and while to their credit they did manage to catch her in the middle of a phone call to the authorities, the fact that she’d even contacted them at all caused another headache for him. Well, no matter. He’d dealt with her in a way that he felt was sufficient enough, and now that she was knocked out and locked under the stairs she wouldn’t be out causing any more problems when law enforcement inevitably showed up on his doorstep.

He sat back in his chair at the head of the dining room table with a glass of wine filled to the brim. It was his third already that day but it made no difference to him. You drink for as many years as he had and you end up building up some sort of tolerance for the substance, although even back in his youth he never succumbed as easily to the effects of alcohol as others around him might have, always being able to get through a bit on his own before feeling absolutely wasted beyond all comprehension. 

Olaf deliberated carefully on what he should do once the police arrived asking questions. With Violet out of commission and safely locked away, she wouldn’t be there to cause a scene, so one part of the problem was already taken care of. He could say that the 911 call must have been a mistake, maybe some local kid playing a prank that just happened to use the name of a famous and talented actor in their little joke. He was well aware of the many shortcomings surrounding the city’s police department, and he had no doubt at all in his mind that they’d write the whole situation off quickly, as unprofessional as it may seem. If they did insist to search through the house, they weren’t going to find anything - the door to the space under the stairs was well concealed, and Olaf himself didn’t even know of its existence until he’d accidentally fallen against it while drunk many years ago. The sedative would last a good few hours, enough time for the police to have come and gone without her knowing a single thing. 

They wouldn’t have likely even gotten a warrant to search through his place - one measly phone call wasn’t enough to set that process in motion. Bureaucracy was a curse to many, but Olaf found the obsession with paperwork many institutions had to be rather beneficial to his own shady and extremely illegal activities. 

It had come as a huge blow to him when he discovered that the Baudelaire’s had survived the arson attack he so meticulously planned against them. By some force of divine luck, they’d managed to escape and were hiding out at Dr Montgomery’s for the time being. If that wasn’t enough, they hadn’t been content with believing Violet perished in the blaze and were actively searching for her. He’d done his best to try to keep this from Violet - it was easier to crush her spirit if he could get her to believe that nobody was looking for her. She’d been stubborn as ever though, refusing to give up even if the situation seemed bleak and hopeless. It angered him to no end that she wouldn’t submit to him, and had dared even try to escape not once but twice now.

Maybe he needed to approach things from a different angle. He’d been all about using overt displays of control and power on her, but perhaps a more subtle and manipulative approach was what was needed. She’d wake up in a few hours, no doubt wondering why she was locked inside a staircase cupboard and not whisked away by police officers. She’d be wondering what went wrong, or if the police never came. Olaf grinned deviously against the edge of the wine glass as he took another sip of the intoxicating mixture. If he could get her to believe that the police hadn’t even bothered showing up to try and save her, then she’d quite possibly start to get it through her head that there was no hope for her at all - she belonged to him entirely, her very life being in his hands, and he wanted her to realise that.

As much as he wanted to go after the Baudelaire’s and finish the job, he knew keeping them alive to use against Violet was far more valuable to him for the time being. She’s less likely to go against him if she thinks that he’ll target her family again. Though eventually he would have to gain some new leverage on her, as his lust for revenge could only be quelled so long. Whatever that leverage may be, he didn’t know, but he hoped for it to come around soon so he could revisit his plan to enact vengeance on Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire. 

At long last, he heard the sound of footsteps gathering on the front porch and the succeeding knock that followed, rattling against the creaky door. He groaned and finished off the last of his wine with a quick gulp, tossing the glass back onto the table with a light thud and strutting off to the front door to deal with the pesky cops that the Baudelaire brat had called on him. 

Upon opening the door he saw two younger looking officers standing out front on his front porch, waiting to question him on the suspicious call they received from his address. The older of the two of them, the one wearing the nametag emblazoned with the words “Officer Harding” across it, was looking around the area boredly while the other, a much younger blonde haired lad stood in front of him. Olaf sneered and leant against the splintery doorframe. “What do you want?”.

“Excuse me, mister-”.

“Count” he corrected, curling his lip in annoyance. The first officer, Officer Harding, coughed and looked a bit taken aback by his assertion. “Right, uh, Count Olaf. We received a 911 call that was traced back to this address” he explained.

Olaf raised his brow at them. “Is that so? There must be a mistake. There’s only me here in this house, and I haven’t been near the phone all day”.

The second officer stepped forward and added “Sir, we don’t mean to impose but we would like to ask you a few questions regarding this matter”. Olaf responded by rolling his eyes and stepping out onto the porch, closing the door behind him. “Very well, but don’t take too long. I don’t have all day”. 

Officer Harding pulled a notepad out of his back pocket and flipped through it until he happened on a page towards the middle. “Earlier today, we received a 911 call from somebody claiming to be held captive by you at this address. The woman on the other end seemed quite distressed, so we thought it’d be best to come down and take a look at the situation”.

“I can tell you straight up that there’s been an error. There isn’t any woman living here, certainly not a captive of any sorts” he said. “If you want, you can search the house, but it would prove to be a waste of time as you wouldn’t end up finding anything anyway. The 911 call was probably the result of some kid playing a prank and choosing to bring in the name of a world famous actor such as myself as some sort of sick joke” he grumbled, already turning to go back inside the house.

“Count Olaf, we traced the call to your address, we-”.

“Machines can screw up - you might wanna check that the ones you’re using are up to speed. Like I said, search through the house if you must but there isn’t any girl here - just me and a member of my theatre troupe who came over earlier to help out with some theatre related business” he shrugged. 

“Sir, we-”

“Do you want to search the house or not?” he countered. “Because, believe it or not I do have other matters to attend to”. 

Officer Harding sighed and closed his notebook, throwing it back into his pocket and waving the air dismissively. “No, there’s no need. The call was probably an accident or a prank as you said, and we’d best be getting on with more pressing matters. We’re in the midst of investigating a high profile case and must direct our utmost attention to solving it” he smiled. Olaf returned the gesture thinly. “Sounds riveting. Well, if you don’t need anything else, then please, as we say in the theatre, exit stage right”.

“Of course, thank you for your time, sir” Harding nodded and began to turn away, motioning for his colleague to follow. The younger police officer looked hesitant, his eyes darting towards Olaf nervously before he scurried along too. Olaf kept on a calm facade but inside was grinning from ear to ear. That was easier than he’d thought. They hadn’t even taken him up on his offer to search the house. He knew police were incompetant but he never dreamed that they’d be that stupid. Not that he was complaining of course. Ducking back inside the house, he slammed the front door shut and twisted the lock shut with his key. Now that the police were off his back and Violet was secured, all he had to do was wait for her to wake up again. 

The first thing Violet saw when she woke up was darkness. Stretches of pure, uninterrupted, pitch black surrounded her. She groaned and sat herself up against what felt like a wall, attempting to wake up from a sleep that felt like it had lasted a million years, her head still feeling the effects of the sedative. She always hated the drowsy feeling being drugged left her with, and as she started to bring herself back into reality she realised she couldn’t entirely remember what had happened. Olaf had tortured her in the bathtub, then dragged her downstairs where he’d shoved a needle into her arm yet again, and then she’d hit her head against something before everything had gone black. 

Wait, why did he try to drown her in a bathtub? Her memory was still hazy but she did her best to sort through what she remembered of earlier that day. She’d been going to call the police, and then one of his associates had caught her. That’s right, she was in the middle of her 911 call when the man with the glass eye had interrupted her and pulled her upstairs to where Olaf had been. The bathtub was punishment for that.

How long had it been since that happened? And where the hell was she? She looked around to see if she could make out any source of light but the room was pitch black around her and the air was quiet. Had the police already come? Had she been rescued? As much as she wished for that to be the case, she got the feeling that wherever she was, it was still part of Olaf’s disgusting residence. Was this some sort of weird dream she was experiencing? Violet sighed. No, it couldn’t be, she could tell straight away that she was unfortunately wide awake. 

She stretched her hands out to see if she could feel anything around her, get some sort of bearing on where she was. Her fingers trailed along the walls, feeling the cracks and grooves made in the dry plaster wall. The room she was in was small and enclosed, and was devoid of any other objects. She felt her fingers brush against the edge of a small metal hinge. Out of curiosity, she moved to push her full weight against the part of the wall where the hinges were and found it to be a door. Dislodging it from its place in the wall, it swung open to reveal the front foyer of the house, and she realised that she must be under the stairs. She wondered how she never noticed that there was a cupboard there before, but guessed it must have been that well concealed that she just never happened upon it. Not wanting to be stuck under there any longer, she crawled out onto the rug and stood herself up, looking around to see if Olaf was waiting around for her.

He wasn’t, to her relief. Instead she was greeted by silence and an empty foyer. Violet directed her attention towards the tall windows and saw that it was dark outside. She didn’t remember what time she’d called the police but it had still been daylight when she did. Had they already shown up and left, or did they never come at all? 

Not really knowing what to do with herself, the sound of her stomach growling interrupted her thoughts and illuminated her to the fact that she was actually really hungry. Taking one last look around to make sure Olaf wasn’t skulking about for her, she walked off silently towards the kitchen in search of something to eat. Opening up the pantry, she picked out the first thing she laid her eyes on, which happened to be a box of chip-flavoured crackers. She placed the box down on the kitchen island and went off to get a glass of water to go with her substitute for dinner. She then sat herself down on one of the barstools and tore through the packet of crackers within five minutes. Her mind kept playing over what happened earlier with her phone call to the police, and the sinking feeling in her gut at the possibility that they had just ignored her cry for help. They said they would show up. They said they were aware of Count Olaf’s previous brushes with the law and would look into it. Why was she still here then?

She didn’t hear Olaf come in until he was right behind her and had placed his hand on her shoulder. She squealed in fright, dropping the box she was holding onto the counter. “Jesus, calm down. It’s only me, no need to get worked up” he chided. 

Violet allowed herself to relax a bit, but she was still on guard. She didn’t want to be around him anymore than she had to, especially after what happened earlier. She regretted not just taking her glass of water and weird crackers upstairs to her room but it was too late for that now. “You say that as if you haven’t given me enough reason to be wary around you” she responded in a small voice. He didn’t answer her, instead pushing past and stalking towards the fridge where he leant in and pulled out a bottle of white wine. 

She watched him move around the kitchen to retrieve two wine glasses, twisting the bottle cap off to fill both of them just up to the brim and passing one over to her. “Oh, I don’t-” she began before catching a glimpse of that frustrated look in his eyes. “Drink it” he ordered, taking his own glass in his hands and bringing it to his lips. Violet slowly pulled the second glass towards her and lifted it up to take a sip. The wine was cold and tasted bitter against her tongue. It didn’t taste bad, she simply wasn’t used to it. 

A heavy silence hung in the air between them, neither one of them eager to break the tension. Violet looked down into the glass of wine she was holding and took another sip, feeling the liquor run straight to her head. It probably wasn’t smart to become intoxicated around him, though he’d ordered her to drink it and it would be equally unwise for her to disobey his command. She glanced at Olaf out the corner of her eye, seeing him stare off into the distance. She wondered what went on in that man’s head, why he took such pleasure out of seeing her suffer. There was definitely an element of sadism to it, but there was something more as well. Thinking back to the time she’d first woken up in that room after being assaulted by him the day before, he’d mentioned that her parents and him had history with each other. She didn’t want to believe it at the time. Her parents were noble people, and they would never associate with someone as wretched as Count Olaf. But the more she thought about it, his behaviour towards her made a bit more sense if they’d known each other. He’d made it clear that he held a personal grudge against her parents, and saw keeping her in captivity as a means of retribution towards them since his plan to torch their house with them inside had failed. 

She’d wanted to ask him more about his motive to do with the fire at the beginning, and she had, several times over. However, each time was met with nothing short of a scathing insult from him, so she’d stopped trying to figure out the reason for her being there and just focused on surviving the brutality of his torture. 

The silence was getting awkward at that point, and even though she didn’t really want to talk to him she could sense that he was trying to bait her into some sort of conversation. She didn’t know what he’d do if she simply ignored him and went on her way after finishing her glass of wine, so she spoke up, saying the first thing that sprang to her mind. “How long was I out for?”.

Olaf shrugged. “Don’t know. Five hours, maybe?” he answered. 

She held the wine glass close to her chest and went to take another sip, feeling the cold liquid splash down the back of her throat. It was refreshing at least, even if it made her feel dazed. “Did the police show up?” she asked softly. 

“No”. 

Upon hearing that, her shoulders slouched and she crumpled into herself. They hadn’t shown up after all. Why? Couldn’t they hear how distressed and terrified she was in her call to them? They said they’d send a cop car over to investigate but they never did. Over those five weeks there, Violet had always done her best to maintain a sense of hope, a belief that justice would prevail and they’d escape this terrible situation with her life. Even after she’d been burnt with a lighter, even after she’d been locked in a freezer for hours and forced to perform sexual acts on herself in front of his villainous friends, she’d still held out. It had been tough, and more than once she’d considered killing herself outright but she’d persisted. And she thought it would finally end that day, with Olaf being taken away in cuffs and her driven away to her loving family. But none of that had happened. The police had never shown up. They’d ignored her cries for help and left her there to rot. 

She knew somewhere in her heart that Olaf could very well be lying about the entire thing to try and toy with her in a display of power and control. The police could have shown up but just missed her. But really, what difference did that make? She was still stuck in captivity, and that small flame of hope that she’d painstakingly maintained against all odds for so long was at long last finally beginning to flicker out. “But...I called them...I…”. 

“Well, silly girl, they must have thought it was some sort of prank call. You should have known not to waste your time trying to contact them - nobody is coming for you” Olaf jested, finishing off the last of his wine and grasping out for the bottle to pour himself some more. Violet stared at him, her eyes sullen and her expression betraying how utterly shattered she felt inside. She directed her attention back down to the countertop and said nothing, continuing to take large sips from her own glass. A disturbing notion entered her mind, and she almost didn’t want to vocalise it out of fear of what his response would be. Would he even know if her family was searching for her? He could easily lie to her, tell her something cruel just to make her feel even more trapped than she already was. She felt she was shooting herself in the foot by asking, but she couldn’t help herself. “Not even my family?” she murmured. 

Olaf’s face broke into a smirk, and she already regretted mentioning her family. “I wouldn’t count on it. You’ve been here, what, five weeks? And they haven’t made any grand attempts at rescuing you. Everyone assumed you perished in the Baudelaire fire. They even published your obituary in the paper and everything” he lied. 

That comment had sent her from feeling mostly hopeless about her entire predicament to falling down a deep endless chasm of despair. So they really did think she was dead. That was it. She’d be at Olaf’s mercy forevermore, never being able to get away from him. Every time she’d tried to escape she’d been caught, every attempt to go against him and be defiant had always been met with excruciating pain and suffering. Was this her destiny? To live out the rest of her days playing house and being abused by this abhorrent man? The idea of it was enough to bring forth tears into her eyes. 

“Are you lying to me?” she asked through gritted teeth, stopping herself from breaking down fully right there and then. Olaf discarded his wine glass off to the side and strode over towards her, trailing his bony fingers across the top of the table counter. “What reason would I have to lie to you about this?” he asked.

Violet whirled around to face him, finding it harder and harder to fight against the inevitable moment when she crumbled completely. If she could hold it in for just a bit longer, until she got to her room at least, then she’d be ok. She just didn’t want to shatter in front of him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d won. His goal was to break her, and he had, but if she could save face a little, not let him see her descent into despair then she’d be able to forgive herself a bit more.

“You can’t keep me here forever, you know. Eventually, someone will catch on. Someone has to” Violet muttered, though she felt that last bit was more directed at her than anything else. He let out a low chuckle in response and traced one lone finger down her jawline, which she fervently tried to ignore. “You shouldn’t sound so sure of that. How long do you think I’ve been running from the law? I’ve set many fires before yours, and I’ve taken the lives of countless others and gotten away with every single one of them. So tell me, Baudelaire, do you really think after this long that anybody will come save you?” he taunted.

Tears glistened down her snow white cheeks, a reaction that she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried. Her face burned as she felt him take a strand of hair into his hand, running the delicate locks through his filthy fingers. She opened her mouth to answer but the only thing that came out was a choked sounding sob. 

“Say it, Violet” he growled, leaning closer to her. She didn’t know what it was, but something about that just made her collapse, and what came out next was a piercingly loud cry, her face becoming hot with shame as tears continued to fall from her eyes and into the glass of wine that she was still holding onto, with knuckles white as a spectre. “No” she managed to choke out, and it was right then that Olaf knew that he’d truly won. She was now fully broken beneath him, a shadow of her former self in every way. She was his own in every way, to do with what he wanted, and she wouldn’t do anything against it anymore. The sound of her desperate and painstricken cries triggered something within him, and he looked down momentarily to see his erection straining against the zip of his pants, begging for relief. 

He moved his hands to clasp around the edge of her chin, bringing her gaze towards him. The way her blue eyes looked when they were filled with tears was almost enough to send him crazy but he wanted to savour this moment. “Good girl. Now, tell me who you belong to, Violet” he instructed, his face only inches from hers. She sniffled and opened her mouth, almost looking like she was trying to summon the willpower to go against him but she failed, faltering right into the palm of his hand. “You” she replied.

Olaf’s lips broke into a grin that could only be described as psychotic, and before she knew it his mouth was against hers. His kiss was as brutal and forceful as every other one he’d inflicted on her but she almost couldn’t feel it. She didn’t fight back when he pushed her down onto the kitchen countertop, she didn’t protest when he pushed her nightgown up around her waist or when he moved his body to pin her down, feeling his erection press against her. Somehow her mind was both crowded and blank at the same time - none of it made any sense. She slipped into her usual routine of numbing herself to his touch, and pretty soon, she felt detached from her body entirely.

A famous revolutionary was once quoted as saying “there are decades where nothing happens, and there are weeks where decades happen”, and at that very moment Klaus felt himself to be relating increasingly more to that quote as the days wore on. It had only been a week since their visit to Jules LeStrande’s, and two days since he’d had a startling revelation late in the night which caused him to sneak out of bed and down into the Reptile Room to conduct some secret research of his own. He’d perused through Monty’s various books on reptiles to try and find something better suited to his needs - a book on codes to be exact. After a bit of searching, he did eventually happen upon such an item and pulled it out onto the desk to flip through.

Positioning the scrap of paper that he’d picked up next to the large book, Klaus began to read through it at a lightning fast rate, scouring through the different types of codes and their histories in an attempt to decipher the one he’d happened across at the bottom of his uncle’s wastepaper basket.

He quickly ruled out several codes that didn’t correspond to the one he had, and went about narrowing down his search to ones that seemed more plausible. Grabbing a pen and piece of paper out of one of the draws, he began to make a list of different codes to try out and set out to work cracking the code. Several attempts were made at deciphering the seemingly random jumble of letters but he came up with nothing every time, and just as he started to think that he was possibly reading too much into it all and that the paper was actually just a scrap of random junk that Monty had been using to test a pen on, he’d finally found the code he was looking for. 

Tracing his hand down the spine of the book, he opened it to the page that described vigenere ciphers. The type of cipher was described as a method of encrypting alphabetic texts by using interwoven Caesar Ciphers, all based on the letters of a unique keyword. It employed a form of polyalphabetic substitution, and was notoriously difficult to crack. 

Klaus slumped his shoulders once he read that piece of information. He’d figured out what code the text was using, but without a keyword there was no way to crack it. And the keyword could be literally anything. He flopped down into the desk chair, feeling defeated and no closer to figuring out anything, whether it be the whereabouts of his sister or the seemingly bigger forces at play in this entire debacle. He was supposed to be the smart one, the researcher, and yet he’d failed.

Rubbing his eyes under his glasses, he suddenly became aware of how tired he actually was. The Reptile Room was cold and he knew his body would much rather be tucked upstairs in his warm bed, but his mind was alive and ticking. He couldn’t stop now. There had to be some way of figuring out the keyword. 

Looking back over the book, he did figure out that there were ways to decode vigenere ciphers without knowing the keyword. One way was the Kasiski method, which consisted of finding repeating sequences of letters in the ciphertext and using that to determine the probable keyword. However, it was time consuming, and despite reading it over and over he didn’t feel he entirely understood what to do. Defeated, he slouched back down into his seat and sighed. If he could just guess what Monty would likely choose as a keyword then it’d be a lot easier on him but he had absolutely no clue. If Monty was the one who wrote it (and he was almost certain it was judging by the handwriting) then it would have to be something he would remember, something important to him. What did Uncle Monty care about? He pondered this for a moment. Monty loved his reptiles, so maybe snake was the keyword.

He sat up again and set about to test his theory, but when he tried decoding the jumble of letters using that keyword the resulting phrase was just as garbled and nonsensical as the encrypted one. That mustn’t be the correct phrase then. What else could it be? He furrowed his brows, deep in concentration. Maybe it would be one of their names? He tried his own name, along with Violet’s, Sunny’s, and even his mother and fathers but still nothing. _Think, Klaus, think! What does Uncle Monty find important?_

The sound of the ticking clock on one of the bookshelves nearest to him filled the room as he sat there in silence for several minutes, his mind being sent into overdrive. He’d become so frustrated with the business of code cracking that he’d decided to rummage through some of the desk drawers to take his mind off things. He found the things that one would usually find in desk drawers: pens, documents, a stapler, random thumbtacks. The documents were all related to Monty’s work at the Herpetological Society, so they weren’t of much interest or use to Klaus. When he came upon the final drawer and poked through the valley of documents in there, he’d almost missed the crumpled up newspaper stuffed into the corner of the drawer. His eyes initially glazed over it, but he caught a glimpse of it out the corner of his eye and reached in to grab it, unfolding it. 

The newspaper was from a few years before, recounting an arson attack that had befallen a small town nearby, destroying it within a matter of hours. What Klaus found interesting though was the parts of the newspaper text encircled in red pen, certain sentences of the report in underlined. Why his uncle would have such a thing in his desk baffled him but something began to nag at his mind, and before he knew it he’d tossed the newspaper back into the drawer and was trying his hand at decoding the cipher one last time. Even if it was just a hunch based on a random newspaper he’d found in his uncle’s desk, he wanted to test his theory out anyway. And sure enough, once he began to use the keyword to decode the mess of letters on that little scrap of paper, the message started to become clearer.

Klaus didn’t know whether he wanted to leap for joy or groan in frustration - he’d uncovered what the message was saying, and had the full sentence staring straight back at him from the desktop right then. However, even though it was decoded and he could properly read what was written, he still had no idea what any of it meant. One of the words that had been circled a few times in the newspaper he found had been “volunteer”, and on some gut feeling he thought to try it out. Now, he’d successfully decoded the message but was still no closer to uncovering any deeper plot or message.

“VFD collapsed, but is it possible that their side lives on? Need to look into it more” he read off the page that he’d written his coding work on. A myriad of questions swum around in his mind. What was VFD? Why had it collapsed? What “side” was the message talking about? He longed for answers, and if it hadn’t been as late as it was he would have marched straight on over to the bookshelves behind him to research on this mysterious “VFD”. But as it was, he could only barely keep his eyes open and he was beginning to worry that somebody would wake up and see the desk lamp light emanating from the room, so instead of chasing after the answers he so longed for, Klaus packed up the materials he had and made sure to leave the room looking as if he’d never been there at all. 

Two days afterwards, to everyone’s delight, some more leads regarding Violet’s case had surfaced. He recounted the events that had taken place earlier that day in the late afternoon. The household had received yet another phone call, and when his mother had gone to pick it up she’d fully expected it to be the police again, telling them information that they already knew and giving them empty reassurances. But by some stroke of luck, it wasn’t.

He’d been upstairs when the phone had rang, so he didn’t hear the first part of the conversation that well but when Beatrice emitted an incredibly audible “You have information to do with my daughter’s case?” his ears had pricked up, and within a few seconds he’d bolted out of his room and onto the upper landing of the stairs, leaning over to look down to where his mother was cradling the receiver between her dainty hands. He saw her nod a few times before asking “How did you get this number?”. Another pause followed, then his mother asked “Why didn’t you come forward with this information sooner?”. She fell silent once again, a few moments later saying “I understand. Thank you for coming to us with this information, it’s incredibly helpful. Goodbye” and replacing the receiver down on the phone rung. 

Klaus took that opportunity to race down the rest of the stairs, questions already pouring out of his mouth at an alarming frequency. “Who was that? Did they have information on Violet? What did they say?” he babbled. Beatrice looked over towards him with a strange sort of look and waved him over to follow her to the kitchen. He obliged instantly, and followed his mother to where Bertrand was sitting with Sunny at the table. His father glanced up at the two of them with a warm smile but it faded once he caught the expression on his wife’s face. “What happened? Is something wrong?” he asked.

Beatrice slid one of the table chairs out and sat down. “I got a call from someone who claimed to have information on Violet’s case. Apparently they were in our neighborhood that night when the fire occurred”. 

Klaus, Sunny and Bertrand all looked at her in astonishment, though in Sunny’s case it was more to do with the fact that everyone else was doing such a thing and not because she understood what was going on. “Did they see something?” Klaus spoke up, wanting to get the most obvious question to ask out of the way first.

“I don’t know how trustworthy this person is but apparently they were casing one of the other houses on the street that night for a robbery. They managed to catch a glimpse of one of the people in the car LeStrande had witnessed out the front of our lot. The caller said at the time he saw it the car was positioned further down the street and half tucked into some sort of alleyway but even though it was dark he managed to pick out some distinguishing features that the driver had” she explained.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Someone else had actually seen something that night? And they’d managed to catch a better look at the people in the mysterious vehicle? Klaus was happy that things were starting to be uncovered faster now. To be honest, he had expected to wait a lot longer before another revelation or scrap of information came to do with Violet’s case. It was a relief that things were starting to pick up the pace a little - the fire had only been five weeks ago, and five weeks without his sister and not knowing anything about where she’d disappeared to was far too long for him, as well as the rest of the family. The police were still useless as usual but things were looking up a bit at least. “What description did he give of the driver? Why didn’t he contact the police with this? Why didn’t he contact anyone about this before now?” Klaus questioned. 

“He said that the driver had dark skin, and from what he could make out had a faded scar across one part of his eye. The most notable thing about him was that he had hooks for hands” Beatrice replied. “As for why he didn’t contact police, well, he was wanted for petty thievery and still is, he didn’t want to put a target on his back by coming forward with this information. That’s why he looked up Monty’s number in the phone book and contacted us instead”. 

The table went quiet for a moment, all of them thinking over the implications of this new information. “Something about that is ringing a very faint bell” Bertrand admitted. “Hooks for hands...why does that sound so familiar?”.

Klaus turned back to his mother, still teeming with queries and questions. “I’m guessing you’ll be wanting to pass this on to the police?”.

“Of course. Even though they haven’t been that helpful, maybe this will point them in the right direction a little. I’ll also have to call Monty about this in a few moments, since he’s out at the Herpetological Society today”. 

He nodded, seeming to agree with his mother's decision but knew that the police wouldn’t be much help in this instance. He made a mental note to go add the following description of the driver to his notebook, the one where he kept helpful notes to do with Violet’s case. He wasn’t sure how yet, but one way or another he was going to uncover the identity of the man that drove the car, the one that likely was used to steal away his sister in the night. Klaus had his work cut out for him, but was more than up to the task. It was all for Violet after all. He also made a note to himself to investigate into what VFD is more once he got the chance, having a strong feeling that whatever it was it was somehow connected to everything that was going on with Violet and the Baudelaire fire. It sounded like a crazy conspiracy, and he kept that part of his research to himself, but over time more and more pieces of the puzzle would fall into place and he’d be able to either uncover the truth in its entirety or at least find out enough to confront his parents on. 

It would be a challenge, yes, and he might end up finding things that he didn’t want to know. But this was important - his sister’s life depended on it. His mind was made up on it, and nothing would deter him from his quest for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so, a few things: 
> 
> 1) sorry about the chapter length, i would have split the chapters and done a double update if it weren't for my need to keep this to 13 chapters + epilogue
> 
> 2) small bits of the earlier chapters are gonna get a light rewrite - i've already done chapter 1 and most of chapter 2, with the other ones being done after this weekend. nothing too drastic, so you don't need to go reread anything, i just wanted to let y'all know
> 
> 3) my head is screaming after proofreading this so it's possible there might be one or two mistakes i missed


	9. Chapter 9

Knowing where to start was always the hardest part, though in Violet’s case that went doubly so due to the wide range of depressing and horrifying events she’d already experienced. The beginning was probably the best place but even then she didn’t know what to narrow down as the true start to her story. Was it when she climbed out of bed that night and snuck down the hall, following the wafting scent of gasoline ascending from downstairs? Was it when she’d been reading her book and caught a glimpse of something moving outside the window? Or did it begin even earlier, all the way back to many years ago before she was even born, to an unspecified period of time in which the man who held her prisoner was once associated, or even shockingly enough, comrades with her own parents? 

Her fingers were fastened tight around the pen, hovering a few inches from the blank page in front of her. The page was part of a book, which contained many more blank sheets of paper and was bound together by a set of swirling plastic rings. It was the kind of notebook you’d see in classrooms, not tossed carelessly into a desk drawer but that’s where she had found it initially - she hadn’t even been looking for anything in particular, she was just doing more of the chores that Olaf had instructed her to do when she found the empty notebook. She flipped through it to see if its pages contained any secrets worth uncovering, or really anything at all but when she realised they were all blank she’d swallowed her minor disappointment and gone to place it back in the desk drawer when an idea came to life in her mind. 

Thinking quickly, Violet checked to see if Olaf was around and once she’d determined that the coast was clear had scampered upstairs to her own room. Once there, she wedged the book under the mattress and threw part of the sheet over the side of the bed for good measure. Then, as quickly as she’d entered the room, she left and went back to her duties.

Now that she had some time to herself, she’d grabbed the notebook from its hiding place and was now seated by the windows in her room, wrestling with herself to try to write something down. It was probably a ridiculous idea, and she didn’t know if just writing down every event that had befallen her in those weeks would help alleviate any of the cutting pain she felt within her. What she really wanted was to have someone there to listen, someone who wasn’t a conniving bastard or villainous henchperson, who would hold her and tell her that she didn’t deserve to be put through any of this misery. 

And of course, what she wanted even more than that was to be rid of the place entirely, for the whole situation to disappear in a cloud of smoke, and for when the smoke cleared for her to be standing right in front of her mother and father, their expressions not even being able to begin to fully convey just how much they’d missed her. Klaus and Sunny would be there too, and she’d leap forward and fall into their arms, feeling comforted and safe, finally being able to break down and let it all out. But that wasn’t going to happen. She’d most likely never see them again, so falling short of that, journalling was the best she could come up with. 

It was hard to put every feeling she’d felt during her unwilling stay at Count Olaf’s into words, and Violet almost felt that there weren’t enough words even in the English language to even begin to describe every aspect of fear, terror, despair, disgust and anguish that plagued her from the early hours of that fateful night she was stolen away. She almost wondered if she should just give up on this too, if writing it all down would just make it worse. Taking a deep breath, she slowly moved the pen down onto the blank white page and began to write, starting off with a loosely coherent ramble about all of the things she felt at that present moment and devolving into a startling recount of the past five weeks. 

Just as she thought, once she started off the words came flooding out of her and onto the page, her hand scribbling down furiously with every memory that resurfaced, every painful act of torture he’d inflicted on her flashing back through her. She felt her eyes water but she didn’t stop. Teardrops started to stain the paper and smudge the ink of the shoddy five dollar pen she was using but she still didn’t stop. Even when her hand started to cramp, and it was physically painful for her to scribble down another sentence, she still refused to cease. 

When everything she’d wanted to let out was recorded in ink, she finally let her arm flop down to her side and let her fingers grow limp around the pen, hearing it clatter onto the floorboards and roll away to the centre of the room. Leaning her head back against the wall, she took a moment to let herself rest, satisfied enough with everything she’d already written down. She hadn’t managed to write down every event that had occurred so far in as much detail as it probably warranted, but she wasn’t sure if Olaf would come searching for her any time soon and she wanted to be able to dive back over to the bed to cram the journal in its hiding place under the mattress before he found it. Violet had no clue what he’d do to her if he found it but she wanted to avoid any more of his creative punishments as much as possible. 

It was almost nice, to have a small secret act of defiance against him, even if it was nothing more than keeping a journal of her captivity. She may have broken in front of him two days before, and she certainly wasn’t about to embark on anymore daring escape attempts any time soon but if she could still do this against him then she wasn’t truly all gone. He may think that he had destroyed her, but if she could find any little way to undermine his hold over her, however secret it may be, then that was victory enough for her. 

She looked over what she’d already written, noticing the ink smudges that her crying had caused. The handwriting was still mostly legible though, and she could read over it just fine. 

_ I don’t entirely know where to start with this, but I thought if I started writing then the flow of words would eventually come to me naturally and help me describe all of the ghastly things I’ve been forced to endure during this time. This whole exercise is probably pointless, and might even make me feel worse by the end but I’ll deal with that once I’m finished. Something deep down is just telling me I should keep some sort of record, one that’s physical. And since I don’t have the luxury of a camera or recording device then writing it all down is the next best thing.  _

_ So, to put it simply, for a little over five weeks I’ve been held in a rotting manor somewhere, under the watchful eyes of a cruel and dastardly man and his wickedly untalented theatre troupe. His name is Count Olaf. What he is supposed to be the Count of, I have no clue, but more to the point is that he’s horrible, awful, despicable. I tell him this too, and he usually laughs at me and replies “you haven’t the faintest idea”.  _

_ I guess I should explain how I got here. It all happened so fast - one minute I was sound asleep in bed, the next I could smell gasoline and I was up out and on the move, looking to investigate. If I’d have known what was awaiting me downstairs I would have stayed in bed, even if it would have meant my untimely death. At least the smoke would have probably got to me first.  _

_ Somehow, I’d gotten all the way downstairs and out of the house before even realising there was a fire. And I only had a second after to process what happened before an arm was wrapped around my body and a knife was pressed to my neck. Just like that, I was dragged off and shoved into some sort of car where I was forced to watch as my house went up in flames while we sped away, unable to do anything to save myself or my family. I’d find out later that they survived, thank God, but in that moment I was absolutely stricken with a mixture of fear for my own survival and for theirs.  _

_ Soon after, a blindfold was pulled over my eyes and I didn’t get to see anything until we’d arrived back at Olaf’s filthy manor. I was pulled upstairs and cornered by him, using the same blade from before to threaten me into undressing in front of him. I was terrified, so I did what he said, and what came next was something that I wish a million times over could be purged from the depths of my memory. He threw me down onto the bed, pushed himself inside of me, and raped me violently until I had cried every last tear that my body held.  _

_ The feeling of his weight on top of me, hearing the sounds he made while violating me, those are the things I won’t forget for the rest of my life. They’re the things that’ll paralyse me with fear forever, the things that will keep me in therapists offices for years to come. That is, if I do ever escape from this most dreadful situation, and right now? I barely even have a flicker of hope that I ever will. My family may have survived, but they haven’t found me. Apparently, according to Olaf, they haven’t even tried. Everyone assumed I was dead. I know I can’t trust a word he says, but why else haven’t they shown up to find me? I also tried to call the police but that turned out to be a waste of time too - they never even showed up.  _

_ As well as rape, he’s also subjected me to numerous instances of torture, ranging from using a lighter to give me burns on my neck to locking me inside a freezer for hours, to even forcing me to dress up in humiliating lingerie and making me masturbate for him and his vile friends. Everything he does to me is worse than the last, and I do try my best to avoid his wrath but at times it honestly feels like he’s just spoiling for conflict, trying to pull up any sort of excuse possible to make me suffer. And for what? To satisfy his own sadistic nature, as a form of petty vengeance against my family for something he won’t even tell me about?  _

_ If by some chance this notebook ends up in some else’s hands I want them to know what happened to me. I want someone to know what I went through even if I do not survive any longer past this point. At the very least, if this ever comes into the possession of my family then they can know what really happened on the night of the Baudelaire fire.  _

_ \- Violet Baudelaire _

A sharp pain struck through her stomach the moment she read the last syllable of her name, and Violet lurched forward, feeling the telling signs of a sudden onset of nausea coming on. In an instant, she scooped up the journal off the floor and hastily crawled over to the side of her bed where she stuffed the book deep under the mattress. Once she was sure that the book was secure and nobody would find it, she lifted herself up off the ground and gradually began to make her way to the bathroom. Unlike her previous bouts of nausea, this one wasn’t as violent but it still hurt nonetheless. She thought after that week of throwing up she’d be free of any sort of stomach troubles but she was sorely mistaken, and with this new onset it was becoming harder to fight the obvious conclusion in her mind.

All signs pointed towards her being pregnant but the stubborn, emotional part kept trying to tell her that she was just sick and that it’d pass eventually. Even though logic was the best option to listen to, she still disregarded it in favour of protecting her own sanity. If she was pregnant on top of all of this, then the situation would turn dire. She’d have to prepare herself for the possibility that she might be forced to give birth to her rapist’s child, and set herself in a position of taking on the role of motherhood, and in all honesty, she had enough of her own troubles to deal with without having some kid tossed on top. So, while she was puking face down into the bathroom sink, she tried to ignore all the other small signs that had been cropping up in those weeks, the fatigue and nausea, her breasts becoming strangely sore and swollen. She decided to take the position that without a bonafide pregnancy test that she wasn’t going to even accept that as a possibility, and seeing as she wouldn’t be able to acquire one any time soon she left the matter at that.

Her nausea did let up soon enough, and even if her stomach lowkey felt like it was swimming she was able to return downstairs, though she’d finished her chores for the day and had nothing else to do. Olaf was out at the moment, and had been for the past few hours. If she’d have felt up to it she would have tried to escape again but really, what was the point? She’d tried and failed twice now, each resulting in painful punishments that she didn’t ever want to relive. As much as the thought sickened her, that manor was her home now. She didn’t have a future beyond those walls, and the future within them was also pulled into question. Olaf could very easily grow bored of her and kill her. In a way, she was lucky that she’d been able to hold his attention for so long, but she didn’t know how long it would last. There were still so many things that she didn’t know about Olaf, and she felt she’d never be able to understand fully what went on in that man's mind. 

Grabbing a box of matches out of one of the kitchen drawers, she decided to light some candles around the place. It was still light out but the house was miserable and dark and she wanted some form of warmth. She lit a few candles around the kitchen and sat herself down on one of the barstools, watching how the flame flickered and how the candle wax dripped down the side the further the flame drew down. None of the candles were new, and what was left of the wickers was already curled so close to the wax that it started to melt into a sort of dripping waxy puddle. It was relaxing to watch, and she allowed herself to rest her head onto the cold countertop, feeling her eyes draw heavy the more she watched the flame. Pretty soon, she’d managed to doze off into a light sleep. 

Her lazy doze was interrupted by the sound of the front door banging open and Olaf calling out to her. She rubbed her eyes and looked around, not fully registering that she was being called out to. She realised when he’d yelled for her a second time, and she’d slid off her seat to hurry into the foyer where he was waiting.

“Took you long enough. I need you to take these and put them in one of the kitchen cupboards” he announced, gesturing to the large brown paper bags next to him. Violet stared at him for half a second before reaching out for one of the bags and sighing to herself. Lifting it up in her arms, she was surprised at the weight of it and felt some of the contents start to move around inside. Attempting to make sure none of the items fell out onto the floor, she looked back up at Olaf and asked “which cupboard do you want me to put these in?”.

“Whichever one has food in it. Stop wasting time already and go” he snarled, and Violet turned on her heel towards the kitchen to carry out his task. On the brightside, if you could even call it that, he wasn’t asking too much of her - she just had to lift some bags and put away their contents, something that would hardly be classified as backbreaking labour. She set the first bag onto the kitchen counter and rifled through it for the first item to put away. It contained a random assortment of objects, ranging from food supplies to large lengths of rope and duct tape, and to her incredible discomfort, several large knives. 

She’d known that he had a vast collection of blades, though she never got to see any of them as they’d been stashed away somewhere she couldn’t find: most likely in his tower room that he’d forbade her from entering. She guessed that was where he hid most things that he didn’t want her to stumble across, and honestly, she was more than happy to follow that rule of his and avoided the room at all costs. From what she’d seen of the outside, the tower was dark and ominous, looming over her as if it were watching every step she made. She always felt watched in that place, partially due to the amount of creepy eye decor he kept around. That was another thing she’d been wanting the answers to, but had never asked because, to put it quite simply, the eyes gave her the creeps. 

Violet continued to stack away the items one after the other, and when she reached the kitchen knives she had a fleeting thought of taking one and running it through his chest. The idea both scared and sickened her. It’s not like she hadn’t thought of killing him before, hadn’t been tempted, but she didn’t want to devolve herself to his level. Not unless she really had to. With a shudder, she placed the knives back down on the counter and neglected to even put them away. 

With one bag down, she scrunched it up in her hands and went back out into the foyer to retrieve the second one. Olaf had decided to recline over on a stray tattered armchair off to the side, drinking out of a flask that she’d seen him use before. 

“And this one?” she asked, lifting it up into her arms and noticing that this bag was even heavier than the last. She wondered what he could have purchased that could be making the bag weigh that much. 

“Stick them under one the kitchen counter cupboards” he replied nonchalantly, not even bothering to look at her. She complied, scurrying out of the room and back into the kitchen where she crouched down by the counter and pried open the cupboard doors. Depositing the bag beside her, she reached in to pick out the first item to store when her heartbeat dropped in an instant.

The bag contained numerous bottles and tins of different lighter fluids: kerosene, gasoline and turpentine to name a few. She pulled away in terror, half crashing onto the floor and kicking the bag slightly with her foot, causing the contents to spill out. Her breathing started to become very shallow, and her mind was already conjuring up vivid images of what those bottles of liquid would be used on. He’d already admitted to many counts of arson in front of her, and he’d already tried to burn down her parents house once. What if he was done using them as leverage against her and decided to get the job done for good? Or, and this thought scared her even more, maybe he was planning on using them in some other, more horrifying way. 

She didn’t hear him come in, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice his presence until he was standing right behind her. “Are you going to put them away or not? I thought I was very specific on what I wanted you to do with them” his voice rang out, and she pivoted around to gape up at him. “What are these for?” she trembled, already hearing the fearful quaver in her voice. 

He grinned at her menacingly and took a step closer to her, leaning down to get onto her level. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he taunted, evidently enjoying how terrified she was already. 

She could’ve left it at that. She could’ve turned around and gone back to stocking the bottles away, maybe even muttering a fake apology under her breath as an extra precaution. But the mere sight of those chemicals had her mind racing, and she wanted to know what he intended to do with them, especially if any of his plans included her or her family in some way. “I’m being serious, Olaf, what are you planning to do with these?” she asked once again, recoiling a bit from being so close to him.

He didn’t answer her for a minute, instead straightening his posture to step over her and pick up one of the kerosene bottles that had toppled over from the bag. Inspecting the label, he then placed it onto the counter and turned back to her. “If you really must know, they’re for a specific plan I have, involving theft, arson, and dead rich people. None of it has anything to do with you or your insipid family but since you decided to be nosy I thought I might as well give you the honest truth. Tell me, are you happy now?” he answered dramatically, the annoyance prevalent in his tone. 

Violet let her guard down a little, her body untensing itself a bit now that it was confirmed that none of those flammable chemicals were going to be used against her family. Still, his admittance to planning to commit more heinous crimes made her sick to her stomach, and without thinking properly she blurted out “How are you so fine with committing arson? With destroying peoples lives?”.

Olaf glared at her, a sure warning sign that she should stop right then and to go back to being his obedient little girl. She couldn’t help herself, continuing to prattle on. “Why are you so...so...so awful?” she spat.

She expected him to reply in his usual sarcastic and snide way but she must have caught him in a particularly foul mood, for instead of tossing out a scathing remark he swooped forward to grab her by the neck and pulled her up towards him. She gasped against him, feeling the way his fingers held firm against her throat, already finding it difficult to breathe. He leant closer to her and lifted her chin up with his index finger. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you to not be judgemental? Then again, your idiot parents are just as blind and self-righteous as you are, so it's really no surprise” he hissed, increasing the firmness of his grip on her throat. “But please, keep on preaching to me about morality. It’s not like I have anything better to do”. 

“It’s wrong. What you do is terrible, and for what? I’ve asked you so many times but I never get a good answer. Why, Olaf? Just, why?”.

His gaze was ripe with burning fury, and within a second he’d slammed the back of her head down onto the countertop. Pain shot through her skull and she screamed out in her immediate reaction. It wasn’t enough to do too much damage, but she wouldn’t be shocked if him doing that would cause some sort of concussion to develop in the next couple of minutes. Sure enough, her vision started to become a bit blurrier and a ring started to rattle through her ears. 

“Why am I doing this, my little brat? Well, since my earlier answers haven’t satisfied you enough then I guess I’ll just leave it at this: I’m doing this out of hatred. Sheer, burning hatred, towards you, your family, among others who I have personal grudges with. I thought that by now you’d have known better not to go against me, but clearly you haven’t. And since you never seem to get the message, then I suppose I’ll have to up the ante on my punishments towards you”. 

“Punishment? I only asked-”

“You were being impertinent. And that, my sweet Violet, carries a high consequence around here” he growled, using his other hand to reach out for one of the candles that she’d lit earlier. She braced herself for another repeat of the lighter incident but when she saw him blow out the flame she felt herself become confused. Though it was only momentary as she noticed the candle wax was still trailing down the sides, even slightly dripping onto the edge of his own fingers. He didn’t react in any way to it and instead brought the candle slowly towards her face and tipped it over across her cheeks. Scorching hot wax poured over the sides and onto her skin, causing a sensation that was met with a horrifying screech being emitted from her mouth. It burnt against her delicate skin, feeling as it trailed down her face and into her hair. 

She cried and pleaded for him to stop but he didn’t let up, watching in sadistic pleasure as every drop of wax that fell from the still half-melted candle burnt into her skin. Her entire face felt like it was on fire, and her tears mixed with the hot dripping wax. It wasn’t just on her cheeks too - he’d tipped some over her eyelids too and she squeezed them shut, the agonising feeling of scalding hot liquid seething through her. She’d underestimated how much worse things could get: this was already more terrible than the time with the lighter. And unlike that incident, this one she didn’t even have the luxury of him taking the flame away from her for a time. Instead she had to deal with candle wax seeping over her face, already tearing through layers of skin and no doubt causing horrific burns to develop. Her eyes especially felt the worst of it, the wax dripping over her eyelashes. She wondered if this would permanently alter her vision in some way, though most of the damage was to her eyelids and not her actual eyes, even if they all felt equally incensed by the pain. 

Olaf placed the candle back to its original place on the table and sneered down at her. “Do you finally understand what happens when you piss me off? Or do you have more insolent questions that need to be answered?”.

“Why don’t you just kill me and get this all over with?” she wailed in desperation, a sound that she’d never heard herself emit before even with all of his previous acts of torture against her. “Please, just kill me already! Let me fucking die!”. 

He mockingly held out a hand to her cheek and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ears. “Oh, dear Violet, you know very well that I’m not going to do that. You're far more useful to me alive, no matter how out of line your behaviour may be” he scoffed. 

“You’ve made me suffer enough, please, end it already!” she screamed. 

He ignored her cries, tossing her a cruel smirk and turning on his heel to exit the room, leaving her to lie there in writhing pain and agony from the torture he’d inflicted. Violet waited until she was sure she could no longer hear his footsteps to tear herself off the counter and over to the sink, where she scrambled to twist the taps on and douse herself with the running cold water. It was only half of a relief to feel the icy cascade of water against her skin, as even though it was pushing the wax off her cheeks and down the drain she still felt the seering burn that it had caused. 

She stood there for a long time, not wanting to take away the one thing that gave her a bit of relief from her pain but when she did she craned her head down to stare at the ground despondently. Violet didn’t even consider her supposed transgression against Olaf to be that bad but apparently he’d thought otherwise, having already been in a sour mood. She grimaced when she remembered that she’d actually begged for him to kill her, and how he’d laughed in her face and rejoiced in her suffering. It was humiliating to say the least. She was almost afraid to go look at herself in the mirror, not wanting to see the result of his latest round of torture on her face, but she knew that she’d have to see it eventually so she might as well get it over with. So with that in mind, she trudged out the kitchen and up the stairs in search of a mirror. 

In her head she was screaming, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a quick gasp as Beatrice shot up in her bed, hair caught in a frizzing halo around her head, the fabric of her pajamas lightly stained with sweat. For a moment she didn’t completely register where she was - her only thought was on the harrowing nightmare that had awakened her from her bout of fitful sleep. It was all so incredibly vivid, and she didn’t even know if she had really woken up or if this was some continuation of the dream. She’d had that happen a few times in her life: a crazy dream followed by a fake wake up where she would get out of bed and make herself a cup of tea and sit out in the backyard staring off into the distance, before everything would melt around her and she’d find herself back amidst the sheets with the clock reading 3:45 AM. Though in the past, those types of dreams were only ever odd or slightly unnerving - she hadn’t had a proper nightmare for years at that point. Until then.

Looking around, Beatrice could make out several familiar items in the darkness of the room, and with the moon shining through the crack in the curtains she could see her husband still sound asleep beside her. It was all ok. She was just at Monty’s. She was in bed, the dream wasn’t real. Letting go of the breath she’d been subconsciously holding, she leaned back against the headboard and reached out to brush the sweat from her brow, noting how her hair had stuck to the side of her face in her sleep. Clearly her nightmare had been so frightening that she’d had a physical reaction to it alongside her psychological response, as she was covered in sweat from head to toe. Though to be fair, from what she could immediately remember of the dream, she didn’t expect any response less than one of utter fright.

It had started off mundane enough: she’d been sitting by a fountain in one of the city parks, reading a novel that she couldn’t quite recall. She more or less had the entire place to herself, as nobody else was around apart from some stray pigeons. It was peaceful, serene, not the scene you would expect to cause great distress. Though when she’d begun to smell smoke she knew something was off. Discarding her book off to the side, Beatrice looked up to see a dark plume of smoke rising through the air, roughly in the direction of the Baudelaire mansion. Panic settled in her heart, and she fled the park, running through the streets at an alarming rate until she came up to the lot where her home stood. But it was already too late - the entire structure had burnt to the ground, only ashes and blackened wood betraying its former existence.

That on its own wasn’t terrifying enough. She’d seen a great deal of fires in her lifetime, being part of a once glorious organisation centred around fighting them, and she’d lived knowing one day she’d fall victim to an arson attack. If you were a volunteer, it was almost expected. Still, she looked around in fear, not knowing where the rest of her family was, and she rushed through the gates to stand among the burning wreckage. 

When she reached where the foyer used to be, she stopped to find Violet standing a few feet in front of her, her back turned. She called out to Violet and reached out to pull her close but she disappeared when she looked up again. Searching around, she cried out her daughter's name in vain, but she never showed up, until the scene changed again to one of the many tunnels underneath the city. How she got there, she didn’t know, but what she saw next was what had terrified her so much that she’d jolted out of bed. 

It was Violet, but this time, she looked different. Her hands were bound with rope behind her back, and she was slumped up against the walls, as if she’d been thrown there by someone and forgotten, left to rot in the disused tunnels under the city. Her nightgown had been torn to shreds and barely hung off her frame, so she could see the bruises, burns and lacerations littering her body. Hair half covered her face, her blue eyes wide open and paralysed, not moving an inch, and finally, the most prominent feature that her eyes had been instantly drawn to: a large, bloody gash slicing through her neck. 

Even remembering such a horrifying image sent chills running through her body. She glanced over at the digital clock on the nightstand next to her, seeing the time displayed as 1:30 AM, and nestled back down in bed to try to get some more rest.

Beatrice never believed much in dreams meaning anything, always thinking that they were just an illogical amalgamation of whatever things you experienced throughout the day, but with how vivid her nightmare had been she had to stop and think for a second, entertain the possibility that Violet was dead, and would turn up exactly like that: battered, bruised, and devoid of life. She didn’t want to believe it, she wanted to believe that her daughter was out there somewhere, and with the progress her son and Monty were making on their investigations she remained positive that they’d find Violet one way or another. Whether or not they’d find her alive though, that was the real question.

It’s an awful tragedy for a parent to lose a child. It’s an even sadder tragedy when a child goes missing and the parents don't even know if they’re out there and still breathing, but always holding out the hope that one day their baby will return to them. Beatrice had seen so many news bulletins over the years of missing children and their crying parents on national TV, begging and pleading for their angels to return. Before then, she could have never imagined what it was like to be them, and never wanted to be in their position. But now she was. She was the mother of a missing girl, a quite possibly dead girl, a girl that might never be found and might forever live as an unsolved mystery that littered the police department's files room. 

Every single day she woke up praying to hear news that Violet had been found safe, that she’d been hiding out somewhere and couldn’t reach them for whatever reason. The more information that had come out though, the more she began to doubt this happening. First a mysterious car was spotted around their neighborhood on the night of the fire, then another person had come forward and given a description of the driver, evoking a sense of familiarity that she couldn’t quite place. Her husband had felt the same, and coupled with their own suspicions on the origin of the fire, it painted a bleak picture for the reality of her daughter’s disappearance.

Beatrice had done her best to hold herself together. She had to be strong, for everyone else, especially for Klaus and Sunny’s sake, but day by day she felt herself unravel. As of late, she’d taken to crying tears in the bathroom during the times where she knew nobody was around, for some semblance of relief. What would she do if Violet turned up dead? Would she even be able to face planning her own child’s funeral? Back when the fire had only just happened, when everyone assumed Violet to have died, she’d already felt like she was teetering on the edge of a bottomless pit of despair. 

Hearing that the police had never found a body brought her back out and sparked a light of hope but she sometimes wondered if it would have been better for her own sanity if she’d have just kept on believing Violet was dead. She didn’t want her daughter to be gone, but in a way, knowing that she could be out there going through the worst kind of trauma imaginable, the kind of things you only see in the most stomach-churning criminal cases, made her sleep far more restlessly than how she would if Violet simply perished to the flames. 

Drawing up the covers closer to her body, she looked over to where her husband lay, still as a statue, and envied how well he was sleeping. He took Violet’s disappearance just as hard as she did, she knew, even if it didn’t so much occur to him the possibility of finding their daughter dead in a ditch. He was probably fully aware of that outcome and tried to suppress it, putting faith in the more desirable outcome of finding her alive and bringing her back home, safe and sound. She wished that she could be like him and not have Violet’s survival looming over her so heavily, practically tearing her apart. If she was never found, or if she turned up dead, she wouldn’t know what to do. If they somehow found out the person who had caused her disappearance, if someone had been holding her captive as she so suspected, then she’d do everything in her power to bring them to justice. And if police were still incompetant by then, or if it turned out to be someone from the past, one of them even, then…

Her eyes started to feel heavy and she began to descend into sleep, mercifully enough. Shifting her position in bed slightly, Beatrice lulled herself further into a deep slumber, her last thought before her brain drifted off completely being: If bringing about justice begins my descent into madness, then I am more than happy to follow the trail down. 

He’d waited until he was sure that everybody had gone to bed before sneaking on out of his room, and even then he’d waited an extra hour just to be safe. It wasn’t a long wait - in an attempt to pick up his spirits a bit his father had purchased a new book for him to read a couple of days before, and while it was hard to keep focus with everything else going on Klaus did in fact enjoy the novel, so when he found himself with an extra hour to kill waiting for the perfect time to commence with his plan, he picked it up off his nightstand and sunk into the world of fiction to escape.

He’d raced through half a chapter already, even though he usually was able to read much quicker. His mind kept getting pulled back to Violet’s case and the new developments concerning it. When Monty had gotten back from his day trip to the Herpetological Society and been told of the new lead, his expression had transitioned from one of hopeful but subdued joy to a more concerned one, with his brows furrowed as if he were deep in thought once he’d learned the full description of the driver. He’d left the room soon after, muttering something about hook-hands under his breath, which just became another thing to add to the growing list of things that Klaus was suspicious about. Well tonight, he might finally be able to uncover some answers.

The hour slipped away like a moment lost in time, and he almost missed when the clock beside his bed blinked to 1:00 AM. Placing the book down, he threw off the covers and put on a pair of socks before sneaking over to the bedroom door. Poking his head out, he determined that the coast was clear and crept on out down towards the stairs. 

His objective was simple: find out what VFD stood for, what it meant and if it had anything to do with the fire that destroyed their home. Klaus knew it wouldn’t be easy, and a part of him felt bad for going behind his family’s backs like this. But since they weren’t willing to divulge the information themselves, this was the only way he had of hoping to find anything. Grabbing the doorknob in his hands, he twisted it and found it to be unlocked, allowing him full access to the Reptile Room and Monty’s personal collection of books. Being careful not to alert any of the sleeping reptiles of his presence, he snuck over towards the far end of the glasshouse room where the shelves of books were located. Once there, he scanned through the volumes, looking for any hint to the acronym ‘VFD’. As initially expected, most of the books were about reptiles and snakes, so he couldn’t gauge much from the titles alone. He then started to pull the books out and flip through them, scanning down their table of contents for any mention of VFD. Still nothing. He kept on doing this with every book he found, spreading them out across the desk while he searched.

At last, once every book Monty owned had been looked through and scoured for any mention of VFD, Klaus collapsed frustratedly down into the desk chair. So that turned out to lead to nothing. What else was he supposed to do now? Go down to the city library and painstakingly read every book ever archived for even a fleeting mention of VFD? In all honesty, it wasn’t too bad of an idea, but it was late at night and he had no idea how he was going to make it down to the city without alerting his parents or Monty that he was up to something. They’d most likely stop him, since they weren’t exactly willing to share the secrets they kept within them.

Looking down at the sea of books in front of him, Klaus felt utterly defeated in that moment, and considered going back to bed in shame. He didn’t though, instead slumping down in the desk chair and playing idly with a pen he picked out of Monty’s stash. He rolled it around in his fingers, examining it boredly before taking to rolling it up and down the length of the desk, moving some of the books aside to make room for himself. 

Playing with the pen, he started to feel agitated at the whole situation. Why couldn’t his parents just be honest about what was really going on? If they suspected something to do with Violet’s case, they should really say something. Sure, they may have their reasons for keeping silent, not wanting to bring in more danger or the like but at some point a line had to be drawn: either you stay silent, and end up losing Violet forever, or you speak up, and increase the chance of finding her. Well, no matter. Even if he had to do parts of it himself, Klaus resolved to track down his missing sister. Some might find it comical for him to be taking the role of a junior detective, but this was important, no, absolutely imperative. 

Absentmindedly, he fell short of catching the pen just before it rolled off the edge of the desk and bounced off his lap onto the floor, making an annoyingly loud clattering sound. Scrambling to his knees, he dove under the desk to snatch up the pen, silently hoping that nobody heard the loud noise it had made. He stayed under there for a moment, fully expecting Monty or one of his parents to burst through the door and ask what the hell he was doing up at that hour. Klaus would then have to fumble for an excuse, try to make out that he was super interested in snakes and stayed up to read about them or something. Like that would work - they knew of his personal determination to solve this case, it was all he’d been thinking about after all. When another minute passed and nobody came in to scold him, he let out a low sigh and went to move himself back up onto the chair when he noticed something odd. 

He’d been under a few desks before, for reasons mostly involving situations similar to the one that just happened - something falling under the desk and him having to crouch down to retrieve it. That being said, Klaus had never spent a prolonged period of time under a desk but even so knew what the underside of a desk looked like. And that, is how he knew in an instant, that something looked off. Part of the desks underside didn’t look like it was fitted properly, like it was slightly out of place. It was almost like the whole space underneath was fitted with a false bottom. His forehead creased in confusion and he leaned closer to inspect it more carefully. Upon a closer look, he saw that there was a very small gap between the space underneath the desk and the wooden panel at the side. 

Reaching out, Klaus moved to try to dig his finger into the space and wrestled with the plank of wood, yanking it out of its place. Discarding it beside him, he found to have opened up what appeared to be a hollow space underneath the drawer slots. He wondered how he’d never noticed it before but saw that the roof of the hollow space was covered completely by a sheet of wood, separating it from the space where the desk drawers were. Cautiously moving a hand inside, his fingers lightly grazed against a leather bound cover, and grabbing onto the side he pulled out the mysterious object from its hiding place, resting it onto his knees.

It was a large black book with a leather cover and years worth of dust coating its front. There were a series of gold markings embossed on the sides and the words “The Incomplete History of Secret Organisations” was printed across the front. 

Klaus could not believe what he had uncovered. Was this what he’d been looking for this entire time, hidden away underneath the desk he had sat at for so many hours trying to uncover the truth? His hands trailed along the spine of the book, taking in the feeling of the leather bound cover. With a final deep breath, he reached his hand out for the side and opened it up, ready to discover and absorb the knowledge it held. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeeee
> 
> things are gettin real now


	10. Chapter 10

Klaus didn’t sleep that night. How could he, with the startling yet intriguing discovery that he’d made during the night? He’d hoped with all his heart to find something related to VFD in Monty’s library, though some part of him didn’t expect to find anything, that he’d just got lucky so far with the coded scraps of paper and pages of discarded newspaper articles. But he did it. He’d actually found something. Something that would answer at least some of the burning questions he held deep within his mind.

The book was long and thick, and it held many secrets within its pages. He’d gotten to the first page before he decided that sitting on his knees under a desk wasn’t the best place to spend all night reading, and after settling himself down on one of the armchairs placed in the centre of the room, the dim light of the desk lamp being his only source of luminance, he started over from the beginning.

The first pages were a general introduction to what VFD was - the letters stood for Volunteer Fire Department, and was a secret organisation dedicated to making sure the world stays, both literally and figuratively, ‘quiet’. They strove to achieve these means primarily through putting out fires, again, both actual flames and metaphorical ones, but also carried out various other humanitarian acts. 

Being a secret organisation, they did everything in their power to keep their existence and operations hidden from the outside world, often using codes and disguises to help keep the general public unaware and ignorant of them. This information alone absolutely floored Klaus. This whole time, there had been a secret organisation working undercover in their city, and his parents and Monty all knew about it. It almost seemed like something out of a book, or a piece of visual entertainment for families, not anything like the real world. Stunned, he kept on reading through the book, which covered everything from recruitment and initiation to training, codes and various strongholds they held throughout the country. 

According to the book, recruitment starts at a young age, with children and teens showing incredible observational and analytical skills being seen as desirable, though VFD often sought any recruit who seemed to be well-read and excelled in any sort of in-demand skill or activity. The book was vague about how exactly the process went down, intentionally so almost, but what it did say was that young neophytes (their word for trainees) were usually inducted on or soon after their eleventh birthday, where Volunteers would come in the night and lead them away to a world of confusing codes, phrases with double meanings and fires abound. There was even an excerpt of an old folk song that Klaus had heard throughout the years as a young child. 

_“And they took him, yeah they took him_

_They took him far away_

_They took him in the dead of night_

_Beneath a moon of grey_

_They took him from the kitchen_

_Like you’d take a midnight snack_

_The V.F.D they took him_

_And they never brought him back”_

He read over that passage twice to make sure he’d read it correctly. In the dead of night, like a midnight snack? That sounded really shady, and it unnerved him in a way that he couldn’t fully describe. For all the introductory pages' efforts to butter up the organisation, something about their method of recruitment left a sour feeling in his stomach, a bitter taste that he couldn’t quite purge from his mouth. Leaning back further into the armchair, he flipped over to the next page which detailed training that Volunteers go through. After induction, neophytes were taken back to the headquarters and assigned a mentor of sorts, most often in whatever field they excelled at and were hand picked out for prior to their recruitment. The book also detailed a practice of branding members with a tattoo of an eye insignia on their left ankles. The image provided to the side did nothing to ease his feelings of unnerve, only hightening them if anything. 

The more he read the more he confused and disturbed he became. Some things were starting to make sense, such as bits and pieces of the conversation he had overheard between his father, Monty and Jules LeStrande but in the wake of those answered questions new ones started to form in their place. There was no doubt in his mind now that his parents and Monty were members of or at least were involved with VFD in some way, but that still left him wondering about several different things. Was any of this related to how their house burned down? Something in his gut told him yes, especially considering what his father had said weeks earlier about having suspicions that the fire was deliberately lit. And what did any of this have to do with Violet? Thinking on it for a moment, maybe his parents suspected VFD to have taken her away as a recruit. Though if she had been, they wouldn’t be so worried. Unless there was something more to this whole mystery. Or maybe VFD hadn’t kidnapped her, maybe they weren’t even involved at all. But still, something in him deep down knew that they were in some capacity. 

One question that was put to rest was why there was a dank, dark tunnel under their house in the first place - apparently long ago there was a railway system underneath the city until the local council shut it down due to lack of use and a greater preference for cars and the city trolley. VFD saw this and decided to take advantage of all the empty space, designating different exit points to lead out to various safe houses or affiliated buildings. It still freaked him out a little that for his entire childhood there was a tunnel leading from under his house to all over the city and he’d just never known. Klaus remembered once when he was around seven or eight he’d read a book where the main character used a secret passage hidden behind a bookcase to escape from their enemy. He’d always wished that he could have something like that in his house, and the fact that there was one right under him all along amused him a little. 

He’d been so engrossed in the book that he nary noticed the hours slip by, even when he’d gone through the entirety of the book and landed right on the last page he’d flipped it back to the front and started over, just to make sure he had understood and absorbed everything there was to know. The sun began to peek over the horizon, and pretty soon the sounds of birds chirping began to fill the air. He looked up to notice it was early morning, and already on instinct he reached a hand out to rub his eyes. All night he hadn’t felt tired, feeling supercharged on a desire for answers and a quest for knowledge but now his body clock was finally kicking in and screaming for him to go to sleep. 

Klaus wasn’t going to listen to his body though, as there was still too much work to be done. The book had managed to quieten a few of the questions bubbling in his mind, but the flicker of curiosity had fanned into a flame and he had to know more. His first order of business would be to confront his parents, armed with The Incomplete History of Secret Organisations in his hands. He’d interrogate them, pull out all the knowledge they held on VFD and dispelling its enigma once and for all. Though he knew he couldn’t just burst into their room upstairs and wake them all up, even if the matter was urgent enough to warrant such an action. No, he’d wait until they’d all woken up for breakfast and coffee, then he’d saunter right on in and launch a discussion.

Thumbing the edges of the page he was on, for the third time his eyes grazed over the words printed in front of him, seeing if there were any more secrets that were hidden away or things that he’d missed the first two times over. The page he was on was about the motto VFD held, similar to the excerpt from The Little Snicket Lad on one of the previous pages.

“ _When we grab you by the ankles, where our mark is to be made_

_You’ll soon be doing noble work, although you won’t be paid_

_When we drive away in secret, you’ll be a volunteer_

_So don’t scream when we take you, the world is quiet here_ ”

Over and over, he read that one passage, internalising it, analysing everything it could mean. The entire book had posited VFD to be a noble organisation working towards the greater good, and at points Klaus had felt himself inclined to align his viewpoint on them with what was written down in print. But his mind kept circling back around to the induction process, and their own motto, and his view shifted to a more critical one. It wasn’t spelled out explicitly, but the undertone of it was that VFD practically recruited by kidnapping. The book never specified if the parents of the children taken knew about it, only giving a footnote to how there are some Volunteer families who have members throughout each generation. Was their family one of them? If their parents were members of this elusive organisation, did that mean that their grandparents were too? Klaus and his siblings never had the opportunity to meet their grandparents on either side, the ones on his mother's side having died before they were born and his father’s parents were never mentioned. 

If VFD generally recruited children in their late childhood to early teens, then why weren’t any of them taken? Maybe that's why their parents had tried to hide VFD from them, to protect them in some way. Though now with Violet missing and their house reduced to a pile of ashes, it seemed that there was no need for that protection anymore. There was a greater plot at play, and it involved Violet, their parents, and this organisation, and once Monty and his mother and father realised there was no use keeping anything from him given the dire situation, then maybe some actual progress could be made on locating his missing sister.

The sound of footsteps broke his concentration, and he could hear the noise of people stirring throughout the house. The sun was a bit of a ways above the horizon now, so it wasn’t too early for anybody to be up. Beatrice and Bertrand had always tended to be early risers anyway, their worry for Violet’s case notwithstanding. He could hear a kettle boiling a couple of rooms away and the low murmur of his mother’s voice drifting through the air. Closing the book, he sat himself up and stretched his back, the feeling of his joints unstiffening from hours cramped up sitting in the exact same position. His eyes felt a bit droopy as he tried to suppress a yawn. Maybe he’d grab a cup of coffee before launching into his questioning.

Nestling the copy of The Incomplete History under his right arm, he stood up from his place on the armchair and wobbled, noting that his feet had fallen asleep. He wriggled his toes to circulate the blood flow in his veins, and when the pesky feeling of pins and needles began to waver, he made his way over to the door of the Reptile Room and out into the front foyer. The scent of coffee grounds and eggs wafted out towards him, his stomach rumbling in response. He pushed down the tantalizing visions of food as much as he could, focusing his efforts on completing what he’d set out to do: he could eat later. Right now, what was most important was wrangling some answers out of his family.

When he first stepped into the kitchen, the first person to pay him any mind was his mother, who was at the stove cooking scrambled eggs. She gave her son a warm smile but frowned when she caught sight of the deep purple bags under his eyes and his bloodshot pupils. “Are you ok, honey? You look like you haven’t-” she started before noticing what he carried under his arm, her expression settling to one he was too tired to try and bother decoding. He ignored her, drifting over to the kitchen table where his father and Monty were already sitting, drinking coffee and looking over the morning paper. Sunny was also there on her high chair, the only one of them to be showing any shred of genuine happiness. Bertrand looked up at his son and was about to greet him when Klaus produced the hefty book from underneath his arms and slammed in down on the table dramatically, a bit louder than he initially intended to. His action caused a silent shockwave to pass through the room, and everyone around looked at him with a mix of awe and unease. 

Klaus stared back at them, feeling hyper-aware of every miniscule breath he took. Nobody said anything for a moment, everyone being struck by the presence of the book before them. Monty especially looked particularly shocked to see it out, though he did his best to try and hide it. “Where did you find that, Klaus?” he asked in a stern tone that he hadn’t ever heard him use. 

“Under your desk. And I’ve read it all. I spent all night up reading through that thing. I know about it, about VFD” he said, keeping his stance firm. Beatrice looked over to where her husband was and sighed, clicking off the stovetop burners with one flick of her wrist. She stared directly at him and opened her mouth to say something, though falling short as no words came out. She sighed again and walked over to the table where everyone was sitting. “I guess you were bound to find out eventually” she murmured, grabbing at one of the empty chairs and slipping herself onto it.

Bertrand glanced at his wife and back to his son, discarding his newspaper off to the side and running a hand through his uncombed hair. “Klaus…”.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. Whatever reason you had for keeping this from us, that reason doesn’t matter anymore. Violet is missing, and this…” he said, waving his hand over towards where the book lay. “...organisation could very well have something to do with it. And I think you know it too. Because I’ve noticed how you’ve been acting, how cagey you all get whenever the cause of the fire is brought up, how Monty and father both seemed to be familiar with Mr LeStrande, and how Monty was subtly startled once he heard the description of the hook-handed driver. Well, it needs to come out. The truth needs to come out”. Taking a deep breath, he continued on. “This book has taught me a few things but there’s still so much that doesn’t make sense. And I want answers”.

From the looks on everyone else’s faces, you might have thought Klaus had asked for a hunting knife as his next birthday present. Their expressions ranged from concern, to astonishment to just downright worry. The atmosphere in the room was so thick that you could cut it with a knife, and it was becoming increasingly more stifling as seconds ticked past. 

Beatrice was the first to break the tension, moving the book over closer to her. “There seems to be some things that we need to discuss with you. About...well, about our pasts. And about VFD” she sighed. “You should sit down, this could be lengthy”.

Klaus took his mother's advice and slid onto the empty chair in front of him, his tiredness from earlier having completely disappeared from the anxious rush that the confrontation had given him. He shuffled around in his seat, waiting for someone to start with their explanation. 

“So, I gather that you already know about what VFD is, what it stands for?” Bertrand started, his gaze fixated directly on Klaus. “Yes, it stands for Volunteer Fire Department. I read all about it in The Incomplete History” he replied.

Bertrand nodded and gestured vaguely in the direction of the book. “That book right there was written pre-schism, so some of the information is outdated. I think it would be best if we started with whatever questions you have, Klaus. Since you already know a lot of details about the organisation, we can fill you in on whatever you still don’t know”. 

Klaus sat up in his chair and leant onto the table, resting his elbows down and wondering where exactly he should start with his mountain of questions. “Well, first of all, are you all members of VFD or just affiliates in some way?” he asked.

“Yes. Well, we were” Beatrice responded, glancing around the table. “Both me and your father, and Monty, along with Mr LeStrande from the bank and many others were part of VFD”.

“Were? So, you’re not members anymore?”.

“Right again. You see, many years ago, there was a schism in the organisation. One side wanted to vere off onto a different path, one more dedicated to starting fires and seizing money. The schism in its most basic form started long before I was inducted into VFD, but during the period of time your parents and I grew up in it the schism was mostly stable, nothing too much was happening to cause trouble or any further infighting” Monty explained, clearing his throat slightly before explaining further. “That all started to change sixteen years ago”. 

“When we were in our early twenties, a tragedy befell the organisation that caused ripple effects through both the firefighting and firestarting sides of the schism. One of VFDs research outposts, a place by the name of Anwhistle Aquatics, was burnt to the ground. The owner and head of the research centre, Gregor Anwhistle, died that day. Tensions between both sides started to broil underneath the surface once more, especially once it came out that one of Gregor’s assistants set the blaze” Bertrand continued, a stoic look settling onto his face. It was obvious to anyone that he was uncomfortable recounting the whole experience but still carried on with his tale. “The Anwhistle Aquatics fire happened in July of 99’, and for a few months after tensions continued to rise between both factions of VFD. It all came to head on April 9 the following year”.

Klaus fiddled with his hands nervously, already trying to process the enormous load of information that had already been heaped onto him. Questions burst through his mind like fireworks, and he had to contain himself from simply asking them all straight out at once. “What happened on April 9?”.

Beatrice took the opportunity to continue the tale, distractedly trailing a finger down the spine of the book in front of her, though the look in her eyes was one of pain, a certain element of melancholy that was practically screaming ‘please don’t make me relive this’. “It happened at the opera, during a performance of _La Forza del Destino_. We were tasked with...with carrying out a certain objective. From VFD. During intermission, a dear friend of ours slipped us a box of poison darts. And later, when the deed was done, was when it all came to head. I’d say that event was the true beginning of the end. One of the more volatile members of the firestarter side was involved and tensions between both sides raged into an inferno. It wasn’t long before both sides of the schism began to tear themselves apart, the whole structure being unsustainable for any longer and just like that, within two months the entire organisation had collapsed”.

Klaus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was definitely a tale stranger than any form of fiction he’d ever read, and the fact that both of his parents were directly involved in the whole matter still didn’t cease to astound him. He wanted to ask what they did, why they were being so intentionally vague, what reason one could have for possessing a box of poison darts at an opera of all places but one look at the expression on his mother’s face prompted him to bury those questions under several layers of silence. Some things were better left unanswered. “VFD isn’t around anymore? It’s gone?” he asked instead, the reason why neither his sister and him had ever been inducted starting to make sense. 

“Yes. Fifteen long years ago it all went up in smoke, and since then your mother and I have tried everything to move past those dark days. We wanted to raise you children in a quiet world, away from the fires and secret codes that plagued our own childhoods. Most of the other members felt the same way, no matter what side of the schism they were on” Bertrand replied.

“But now you have suspicions that the other side isn’t truly dead? The firestarters?” Klaus questioned. “I found Uncle Monty’s note and decoded it a few days ago, that’s how I first learnt of the existence of VFD”.

Monty gave him a weak smile in response. “Clever boy. And in answer to your question, it’s not so much a matter of whether or not the firestarters as a group are still active, but more so to do with individual members”.

“Like who?”.

“Remember the tip we got a couple of days ago from the shifty thief? The anonymous one? Well, your mother, father and I tried to alert the police of this but they dismissed it, saying that the thief was not a legally reliable witness due to the fact that they haven’t come forward to the authorities themselves, so they're still looking in all the wrong places for Violet”.

Klaus nodded. “Right. I remember after the guy said that the driver had hooks for hands that father felt a sense of deja vu. And when you initially heard it, you had a look on your face like you knew something about it”.’

“You’re very perceptive, Klaus. Something nagged at the edge of my memory but I wanted to look into it a bit more before making any huge plans or announcements. But, with that said, I do believe now that I’m sure of the identity of the hook handed man” Monty revealed.

His eyes widened at this and he felt his heartbeat start to pick up the pace. “Really? You know who the hook handed man driving the mysterious vehicle is?” he sputtered, feeling elated at the prospect of a new lead. 

“There was a volunteer, back in the days of VFD, the one who was the assistant to Gregor Anwhistle and burnt down the research laboratory. After the fire, he lost his hands and they were replaced with hook prosthetics. He’d always maintained that he didn’t start the fire but nobody believed him, and afterwards defected to the firestarter side of the schism. His name was escaping me at the time but now I remember it clearly: Fernald Widdershins. He’s the man I believe was involved in Violet’s disappearance”.

Klaus couldn’t believe it. They had a name! A name to match the description that the petty thief had given them. He could feel his heart soaring in his chest, and at the moment he wanted to race out of the house and straight on towards wherever Violet was, embracing her in his arms and crying into her, saying how much they all missed her. Though he knew he was getting ahead of himself a slight bit - they still didn’t know where this man was now, or how to locate him, but things were starting to pick up, panning on out towards the bright happy future where they rescued Violet from whatever awful place she’d been held in and bringing her back home. He thought it’d be forever until they had a proper profile of one of the suspects, much less a name. He was so ecstatic that he didn’t even want to entertain the idea that she might not even still be alive by that point. “We need to find this guy as soon as possible. Now, even. He must have information to do with Violet, so there isn’t any time to lose!” he proclaimed. 

“Klaus! Settle down” his mother cried out. “We know that time of the essence in this matter, but please, calm down. We don’t even know where Fernald is or how to find him. Instead of rushing into things headfirst, what we need is an actual plan, a strategy on how to go about this”. 

Complying with his mother’s wishes, he rested back into his chair and recomposed himself. “Of course. A plan...we definitely need one of those” he mumbled, still feeling his spirits heighten the more he thought on everything. They might actually have a shot of bringing his sister back. 

“I already have an idea on how I’m going to track him down. I know the locations of a few ex-firestarters around the city, one of them must have kept in contact with Fernald all these years and would have some idea on the places he frequents” Monty spoke up, taking a sip of the barely lukewarm cup of coffee next to him. “After that, all we have to do is approach him and try to weasel some information out of him”. 

“Sounds like a good idea, at least someone must have still kept in touch with him, even if they have ceased their own villainous operations” Beatrice nodded, standing up and walking on over to the stove where the pan of scrambled eggs had laid neglected for more than ten minutes. “When are you planning on going down to the city? I could come with you if you’d like” she offered, turning the stove back on and resuming cooking their breakfast.

“I was planning on going down in two days during the evening. I appreciate the offer but I feel it's best for me to go solo on this. You never know what sort of bad blood has lingered over these years, even if VFD has long since disbanded” Monty answered. 

Beatrice smiled softly. “I understand. Considering everything that happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if many of them are still bitter towards me in their own way” she mused, turning back to focus on the eggs. 

It was then that the feeling of hunger started to rumble through Klaus’ stomach once again, and he could feel himself growing increasingly more tired with every passing second. Now that the adrenaline of the confrontation had worn off, the consequences of staying up all night reading were making themselves known. Groaning to himself, he decided that he’d have something to eat and then trudge back upstairs to catch a lick of sleep. This wasn’t the first all-nighter he’d pulled while reading a book, but it’d been such a long period of time between the last instance and now that he barely remembered those feelings of unending exhaustion that came with not sleeping. His father looked over at him and laughed, nudging his own cup of coffee towards him. “You look like you could use this” he grinned.

“Thanks” Klaus grumbled, bringing the still somewhat warm liquid to his lips and gulping it down as if he hadn’t drank a drop of anything for days. “I must say, I do admire your dedication to your research, Klaus, even if it did mean going through my stuff in the middle of the night and sneaking behind your parents and I’s backs” Monty complimented.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that” he muttered sheepishly. 

Monty shook his head and smiled. “It’s all good. Sometimes in the pursuit of knowledge and justice you have to do things that are otherwise unsound or immoral. It’s a tough fact of life but one we must learn to accept”. 

Klaus didn’t entirely know what to say to that but just tilted his head in agreement and went back to gulping down his coffee. Already he could feel his body start to wake itself up a little, the caffeine supercharging him and making him more alert. He was still tired enough to be able to go upstairs and catch a few hours of shut eye but he didn’t feel like he was on the verge of collapsing from fatigue at any moment. Rubbing his eyes, he noticed a plate of eggs and toast had been deposited in front of him once he opened them. He gave a quick and polite ‘thank you’ to his mother before digging in. 

He took the time to go over everything he just heard, everything that had led to the moment that morning where he waltzed right in and dumped _The Incomplete History of Secret Organisations_ on the table as if he meant business. The sheer wealth of information that had been delivered right to him helped him decipher the mysteries of the past month. If the firestarter side was still active in some way, then that made him certain that their own house fire was an act of arson, most likely done as vengeance against his parents for something or other. Like Monty said, some former members still likely held some bad sentiments towards Beatrice and Bertrand for whatever reason. What he found odd though is the explanation given to the great tragic event that had marked the moment when VFD had broken apart beyond any hope of repair. An opera, a box of poison darts, a task given by an elusive and morally dubious organisation - even that was all vague on what actually happened. Someone had given his mother a box of poison darts, and those darts were used against something that night. How exactly was that night in particular so significant that it caused an unmendable break in an entire organisation? Who was the “volatile” firestarter they were talking about? What the role did they play in the whole situation? 

The question that Klaus kept coming back to though, was this one: if the poison darts were given to his parents to carry out some sort of task, what exactly did that task entail? What was the purpose of it all? He thought back to the look on his mother’s face when she’d recounted the event - her expression was muted, silent, her eyes stricken with streams of regret and pain thinking back to that night. The more she explained the more uncomfortable she’d become, leading more credence to the theory that Klaus didn’t want to believe to be true but suspected in his heart. The theory that his parents, Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire, murdered someone that night. 

She hadn’t moved from that spot all day. 

Violet didn’t know what time it was, or how long she’d been sitting curled up against the wall with her face in her knees, but she didn’t really care. Olaf had left her there hours ago, going out again to engage in whatever villainous plots of arson suited him, and she’d let him go without a single word. The burns from where the candle wax had dripped onto her face still hurt, though not so much in an agonising way, more so in a dull throbbing way. She remembered first catching a glimpse in the mirror of what he’d done to her and gasping in shock, her face turning paler the longer she looked.

The damage was horrific to say the least - the parts where the candle wax had been directly applied were all scarred, somehow both a mixture of bright red and startling white against her already snow white skin. It looked shiny too, though that was most likely from the small remnants of candle wax still lingering on her face. Her eyelids suffered the worst of it though, seering red with semi-dried wax still clinging onto her lashes. She knew it could have been worse, she could have been burnt beyond recognition - at least she could still make out her finer features, even if they were blazing bright red and felt scathing hot to touch. 

It was startling to look at, and she didn’t move for several seconds, frozen to the spot just staring at her own complexion and the horrible damage inflicted by Count Olaf. Everytime she blinked she felt pain shoot through her eyes, though it couldn’t be helped so she learned to anticipate it, and soon she became numb to it. After she finished staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, she went about to treat her injuries as best she could. A combination of cold water and applying some light bandaging where she was able seemed to do the trick, even if she couldn’t cover most of the damage. She’d looked back up at herself and felt close to the brink of tears, wanting so desperately to collapse right there and die. She wouldn’t get her wish but she did sink to the floor and lean against the side of the bathtub, allowing her tears to blanket her burning hot face despite the pain it caused.

That had been only a few days ago. It was May 19 now, and the intensity of the pain had scaled down a bit only two days before. When Olaf had seen her the morning after torturing her with hot candle wax, he gave her a funny sort of look and waved her away, almost acting like she’d just burnt herself in the kitchen and he wasn’t the direct cause of her suffering. He’d left her alone since then, only pestering her to bring him a bottle of wine in the evenings and ordering her away once she had. Normally Violet would have been relieved that he wasn’t forcing himself on her any longer but she was too focused on recovering from the burns that the thought scarcely even entered her mind.

Once Olaf had left earlier that day, Violet crashed down against the nearest wall and sobbed for what seemed like hours. She had the house to herself, so she could have gone around trying to look for ways to escape, but truth be told she simply did not have it in her anymore. Somewhere in her she was chastising herself for being so weak willed as to buckle under him, no matter how hard she reasoned with herself that she’d tried everything she could. She’d thought about going to write in her journal but couldn’t bring herself to it. So there she sat, against the cold walls with peeling wallpaper scratching against her back and her toes digging into the cold floorboards. She’d get up when Olaf returned, probably going about pretending to dust something so she could at least look like she was being obedient but until then her plans for the day involved staying right there and wallowing in self pity. 

The sound of a gate creaking alerted her of movement outside, and her ears registered the crunch of the gravel path as footsteps walked on towards the house. Guessing that it was most likely Olaf returning, she quickly stood up and brushed down her nightgown, scanning the room to see if there was a rag she could pick up. What surprised her is what followed when the footsteps came to a stop in front of the door: instead of the usual jangle of keys she would have expected, there was instead a knock. Violet froze and stared at the door, making out the shadow of a tall figure through the boarded up window panes. 

“Hello, is anybody home?” a voice called out. Violet continued to stare at the door, unsure of what to make of this situation. Who was that? She certainly didn’t recognise the voice. It seemed to belong to an older man, and from what she could make out through the boarded up windows he was wearing some sort of hat. Maybe it was a door-to-door salesperson, or a meter reader. Whoever they were, she hoped that they’d go away soon so she wouldn’t have to deal with them. If something like this had happened two weeks or even five days before she would have broken out into a run towards the door, calling out for help from this unknown person. But everything that had happened to her since the night she was kidnapped all pointed to one painful fact that she was only just starting to accept: there was no such thing as hope or good luck for her. Not anymore at least. 

“Hello? I have a package that needs signing for, for a Miss Violet Baudelaire. Is there anybody here to claim it?” the man outside called once more and in that instant Violet felt her heart stop. Whoever it was out there knew her name and knew she was being held captive. Though why would they be trying to deliver a package to her? 

She thought about doing it - running towards the door and using all of her might to pry open the lock, opening it to see who this mysterious man was on the other side and begging him to help her with her situation. She’d have a chance at escape, one final chance to reunite with her family. Should she take it?

She had to think about this critically for a moment. How did someone know she was there? How did someone manage to find her? Could it be the police? She frowned at that thought, attempting to ignore the shallowness of her breaths. If it was the police then why were they trying to give her something? In fact, why would anyone trying to rescue her be trying to give her a package? Unless it was just a cover story just in case Olaf was around. It could very well be a trap that Olaf himself had set up, getting one of his associates to pretend to be someone coming to save her as a test. If she went over to that door, she’d be punished for it, and with the pain from her burns still throbbing she didn’t want to take that risk. Olaf had already demonstrated that he wasn’t playing around, and that he could do far worse to her if he wanted to. It wasn’t like what he’d already done wasn’t terrible enough on its own but the threat of increased torture was enough to make her tremble.

“Hello? Is there anyone here?” the man called out again. She still didn’t move, eyeing the door with wide and suspicious eyes. It had to be a test. Some part of Olaf’s cruel and twisted game of torturing her. There was no way that someone was actually there for her. If she just stayed where she was she wouldn’t be hurt. She wasn’t going against any of Olaf’s rules, so if this was some sort of trial then she’d pass it if she didn’t move to answer the door. 

Violet started to shake as she saw the figure move around on the front porch, trying to look in the windows to see if anybody was around, and without thinking she tore off upstairs, almost stumbling several times and crashing against the wall as she poorly navigated herself towards her bedroom. Once she was in there, she burst into tears yet again and threw her body down onto the bed, burying her face into the pillows and letting her sorrow pour out of her. She briefly wondered if the mysterious man was still out there, waiting for her to answer the door or if he’d left already. It didn’t matter though - she was still there, still a caged animal in the clutches of a cruel and evil man. She could’ve gone to answer the door. She could’ve saved herself. But she didn’t. She’d ignored the man, running upstairs in fright instead of taking what could have been her last ever chance to escape that hellhole. And the worst part was, at least half of her was sure that she’d made the right decision. 

It had been difficult to nail down any former members of the firestarter side of VFD for a chat - apparently a lot of them still held bitter grudges to do with how the organisation dissipated, even though few of them were still involved in criminal affairs. Monty had first tried to reach out to Esme, as he remembered Fernald being associated with her after he switched sides in the schism. She hadn’t been any help, instead behaving rudely over the phone and being a generally unpleasant person. From what Monty could remember of her, she never was particularly nice to begin with, even in the past. She declared that she’d only be willing to trade information for something equally as valuable, and the minute she said that Monty knew exactly what she was angling for. He’d replied to her swiftly and coldy, saying he didn’t have the Sugar Bowl and that nobody had seen any trace of it for years. Esme sniffed at his impertinence and abruptly hung up after that. 

He’d tried Georgina next. It had been difficult to get a hold of her whereabouts at all, since it seemed that she’d tried to keep a relatively low profile over the years. When he finally had tracked her down to Lucky Smells Lumbermill, discovering that she’d taken up residence in one of the old VFD outposts to practice her controversial craft, she hadn’t been receptive of his surprise visit. Their exchange was brief, with Georgina saying she had no idea of Fernald’s activities since VFD disbanded, not saying much more than that before one of the mill workers had arrived for an appointment they’d had set up with her, and that was the end of that lead.

For about two days he went through this same pattern with locating and contacting ex-firestarters through all sorts of means ranging from phone calls to showing up at their places of residence, either with them acting hostile towards him or partaking in awkward small talk so as to not start anything. All of those encounters led to the same outcome, with Monty having no more information than he’d started with.

He kept persisting, wanting to help Beatrice and Bertrand in any way possible. He’d never had the chance to meet their daughter but nevertheless he wanted to find her safe and unharmed as any decent person would. Her parents were old and dear friends of his, and it broke his heart to see them so shattered over her mysterious disappearance. When he’d first found out that the Baudelaire mansion had been destroyed by a fire, he hadn’t thought it to be anything more than the result of an unfortunate accident. The weeks wore on however, with more pieces of information coming to the surface that had made him start to consider arson. And even though he hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility that someone from VFD was still setting fires, he knew that with Beatrice and Bertrand’s history that it was a frighteningly likely possibility. 

Turning onto the brightly lit road, he looked up ahead to see the Hotel Denouement, the city’s finest hotel standing tall up ahead. This was the last place he knew for sure where an ex-firestarter resided. Ernest had never struck him as being one to hold grudges, even if he was part of the villainous side of the schism. With some luck, he’ll have some information that would prove useful to him. 

Pulling his jeep into the hotel car park, Monty switched the ignition off and slid out onto the cobblestone road below, taking in the decadent beauty of the hotel. It had been years since he’d stepped foot near there, though not much had changed since that time. Striding forward towards the revolving doors, he scanned the almost empty lobby for any signs of Ernest. He zeroed in on the figure of one of his old friends, Ernest’s brother and one of the managers of the hotel speaking to a concierge over at the front desk. 

“Frank! Long time no see” he called out, traipsing on towards the concierge’s desk, his loud voice immediately catching the other man's attention. Frank turned around and upon seeing his old friend returned the gesture with a warm smile of his own. “Monty? It’s been years, what are you doing on this side of the city?” he asked, waving his hand to let the concierge know to leave them alone. 

Monty nodded and leaned slightly on the countertop, his smile wavering once he began to clarify his reason for being there. “I wish I could say it was for something more pleasant, but unfortunately that isn’t the case. Is Ernest around? I need to speak with him on something, on an issue of utmost importance”.

Frank’s forehead creased as he leaned back against the wall behind him. “He’s up in the hotel’s restaurant. Is everything alright?” he replied, already appearing quite concerned over the purpose of Monty’s unexpected visit to his establishment. 

“Sadly, no. I need to speak with him on matters concerning the Baudelaire fire. Beatrice and Bertrand have been staying with me these past few weeks and we’ve been trying to get to the bottom of the whole ordeal”. 

“I heard about it on the news. Do send my regards to Beatrice and Bertrand, I can’t imagine what it would feel like to have your child go missing, on top of losing your home and everything you’ve ever owned. But what does Ernest have to do with that?” Frank asked. 

“I have reason to believe that a former member of the firestarters is involved in her disappearance. We have a name and description of one of the men seen near the Baudelaire mansion hours before it burnt to the ground, and I’ve been checking in with other former members to see if they’ve kept in contact with this man since the organisations disbanding” Monty explained, watching Frank’s expression change from one of confusion to one of silent understanding. “Alright” he responded, pausing briefly before exiting from his position behind the concierge desk and motioning for Monty to follow behind him. “I’ll show you where he is”. 

He led Monty to where the elevators were and pressed the button to open the carriage doors. Both men stepped inside, not saying a word as they both were tied up in their own thoughts - Frank’s mainy surrounding the implications of the Baudelaire fire being deliberately lit, and the unsettling possibility that someone on the firestarter side was still at large with their crimes of arson, while Monty’s thoughts revolved around psyching himself up for the conversation about to take place between him and Ernest Denouement, a man who he hadn’t spoken to in fifteen years. Their silence hung in the air, the only sound being the pulleys of the elevator working away to bring them up to their destination. Frank looked like he was about to say something at one point but kept his mouth shut, that unnerved expression refusing to leave his face. 

Monty didn’t entirely mind the silence: it gave him more time to think on how he was going to approach his conversation with Ernest. While he had never pegged Ernest as being particularly volatile, he was aware of some of his former activities and crimes when he was a member of VFD. Depending on his stance towards the aftermath of the schism, their meeting could go very badly. He knew that he probably should have just called ahead of time to see if the man was even interested in having a dialogue with him, since it was generally considered rude to show up on the doorstep of someone you once had ideological differences with and asking them if they were still friends with someone else you hadn’t seen in years. 

The elevator doors slid open, and both Frank and Monty wandered out into the hallway towards where the hotel’s high-class restaurant was located. It was late in the evening, so there weren’t as many patrons in there as there would have been hours before. He could already make out Ernest’s silhouette through the small holed windows in the doors that led to the kitchen. Frank stopped and signalled for him to wait there, to which Monty complied and hung back near the side of the doors. He could hear Frank speaking to his brother in a low whisper, and soon enough Ernest had stepped out into the restaurant area, bearing a peculiar look on his face. “Hello, Monty” he greeted in a somewhat tense tone.

“Hello, Ernest. I realise this is unexpected, but I need to speak with you about some matters concerning the Baudelaire fire, and my niece Violet’s disappearance” Monty requested. Ernest didn’t say anything, evidently thinking over what Monty had said and deciding if it was worth having a discussion about things that, as far as he was concerned, belonged in the past. Deciding to accept his request for information, he nodded and smiled thinly. 

“Of course, it would be my pleasure”.


	11. Chapter 11

They’d been driving for about half an hour by that point, not that either of them really noticed the time passing by. It was only an hours drive from Monty’s house to the city centre but even still it felt like time as a concept wasn’t even real. At least, not for her. 

Beatrice leaned back into the cushiony passenger seat she was sitting in, her eyes trained forward directly on the road in front of them. The landscape wasn’t too interesting to look at, the space surrounding them mostly being occupied by vast expanses of dust plains and the occasional gas station with bright neon lights advertising cheap gas and Diet Mountain Dew beside the road. It was early in the evening, so the highway wasn’t extremely busy but it wasn’t desolate either - cars still sped by them, on their way to who knows where. She’d let Bertrand take the wheel for their expedition out, seeing as in those days past she hadn’t slept much and didn’t trust herself to not unintentionally careen them off the road into the dust, or more worryingly, into another driver. She didn’t feel necessarily tired then yet didn’t want to take any chances. 

What she did feel then was high on two cups of coffee and a sense of dread for what awaited them at the end of their journey. When Monty had returned back from his meeting with Ernest two days before, she only half-expected him to return with valuable intel. To her relief, he did have some interesting information to report on as it seemed Ernest had been more receptive to their impromptu meeting than anyone had thought he would. Monty relayed the whole story to them, about how they’d sat at a table at the back of the Hotel Denouement’s restaurant and had a tense exchange to do with events from years before - the schism of course being the forefront of the discussion. For what it was worth, none of the Denouement triplets, including Ernest, wanted anything more to do with the organisation that had haunted their childhoods and much like her and Betrand had strove to move past everything that happened, focusing on their own ambitions and their joint ownership of the hotel. None of them held any grudges towards anyone who was in VFD because the whole situation was ridiculous in the first place, as Ernest eloquently put it. 

Leading on into the question that Monty had come to have answered, he vered onto the topic of the Baudelaire fire and Violet’s disappearance. Ernest revealed that while he didn’t have any more in depth knowledge on the circumstances surrounding the blaze he did say that he had kept in sparse contact with Fernald, recalling a meeting both of them had at a bar in the grungier side of town a week or so before the fateful fire. From what he could remember, Fernald had made a brief comment about a plan he was a part of executing that involved being in their old neighborhood, something about getting even with Beatrice and Bertrand. In his own words, Ernest had directed the topic onto something less sinister soon after so that was all he really knew, however he did give the location of the bar they met up at, saying that it was a place that Fernald frequented and that he’d actually picked it out as the place for their meetup.

When Monty asked him why he didn’t report anything sooner, Ernest had shrugged and said he honestly forgot about what Fernald said at all, adding that he’d been busy planning some extravagant event that the hotel was hosting. After giving his condolences for them, their unplanned meeting was adjourned and Ernest was whisked off by his brother to sort out something to do with the hotel’s budget. 

Monty then told all of them the name of the bar that Ernest had given them and its address: The Calamity Mary, located at 358 Kubrick Avenue on the west side of the city. Immediately both her husband and her made plans to take a trip down there and wrestle some information out of Fernald. By some luck, he’d hopefully be there once they walked in so they could get down to business but if he wasn’t she’d get one of the staff to let them know of the times he usually visited the place using various persuasive techniques. 

Klaus, who had been sitting in on the entire conversation as whether she liked it or not he was a part of all of this now, insisted that he tag along and help out but Bertrand had put his foot down, explaining that it was too dangerous for him. Even though infiltrating a shady bar with unsavoury sorts of people sounded exactly like something both of them would have done in their youths training under VFD, neither of them were about to let their children throw themselves into danger that easily. One of them had already disappeared, and both of them would be damned if they lost another. 

He attempted to argue the point but when he saw that neither Bertrand or her were letting up he sighed and slumped back down in his chair. Lately, Beatrice didn’t know whether to be proud of her son for being so determined and clever to uncover the existence of VFD and all their secrets or whether to be frustrated by it. She’d never been one to coddle her children, wanting them to become aware of the cruelties of the world on their own. Despite how much money they had as a family, she wouldn’t consider them to be out of touch to just how tough the world can be, and all three of the Baudelaire children were smart enough to know that. Both Bertrand and her had given them a lot of freedom and always encouraged them to pursue their own personal interests and passions. Nevertheless, even before the fire they’d done everything in their power to protect them from ever knowing about the secret organisation that they were once part of. Things were different now, and although she hadn’t wanted Klaus to be aware of VFD, it was more dangerous now for him to not be aware. And as her son had said previously, if him knowing the truth helped bring Violet home then that was far more important, the reward greatly outweighing the risk. 

There were still some things she preferred him not to know, like what really happened at the opera the night that determined the fate of VFD forever. How could she come out and admit to her own son, to her baby daughter even “Your father and I used those poison coated darts to murder two people”. How does someone begin to try to explain the reasoning behind that, why those actions were crucial in the first place. Years later Beatrice still sometimes lay awake at night asking herself if it was necessary for them to kill the parents of one of the most volatile firestarters known to them. She had regrets over it, no matter how much she told herself it was the right thing to do she could still see the results of the darts fast acting poison seeping through skin, turning her victims expressions ashen white before causing their hearts to stop and for them to collapse in their seats. Their eyes were what got her most - they were just so still, so lifeless, glassy and devoid of anything. She’d never met Count von Leyden or his wife before that night, yet seeing how quickly they’d died in front of her did give her a moment's pause to wonder the true intentions of their side of the schism, if any of them were as noble as they all claimed to be. 

Still staring out the front window, Beatrice let her mind wander back to the present and the destination they were speeding off towards. Glancing over quickly at her husband in the driver’s seat, she sought to catch any sort of sense that he might be thinking the same thoughts that she was, or at least something similar. Bertrand’s eyes were stony cold and serious, focused straight on the road ahead. His eyebrows were furrowed in that way that she could tell that he was thinking about something himself, most likely to do with Violet and the realisation that former VFD members were involved in her disappearance. Turning away back towards the window, she noticed that the spacious flat dust plains were starting to be replaced by the urban sprawlings of the city, signalling that they were close to reaching their intended destination. Rows of white picket-fence houses turned to dark glassy buildings the closer they edged to the city centre, and when they finally turned onto Kubrick Avenue it felt like a relief to be there at last. 

Bertrand cut the engine and slid out of the car without a single moment’s pause. Beatrice followed him soon after, to where they both found themselves out the front of the infamous Calamity Mary, the luminous neon lighted sign depicting a scantily clad gunslinger girl illuminating the bar’s front. The windows were tinted and looked scratched up, contrasting horribly with the brick walls outside, and for whatever reason the bar didn’t have any type of security checking for ID’s. All things considered, it looked to be a shady sort of place, exactly the type of establishment a villain would hang out at. The two of them exchanged glances with one another, both silently praying with everything they had that the information Ernest had given them was correct and that Fernald would be there.

Advancing forward, they entered the seedy looking building, immediately being greeted by the loud drunken noise of the patrons around them. From a first glance, the inside of the bar looked exactly as you would expect it to - the brick walls were covered with bits of light graffiti that the owners had made an attempt at removing once upon a time before accepting it and just leaving the walls as is. The furniture all looked old and rickety, in desperate need of someone with a boatload of cash or a single ounce of care for the bars upkeep to come replace it. The guy behind the bar looked tired, like it was almost the end of his shift and he’d already mentally clocked out. Some of the lights were broken, and the entire bar stank of smoldering cigarette smoke. It looked like something straight out of a movie surrounding gangsters and other unsavoury types. In fact, there had been rumours for years floating around about The Calamity Mary and whether or not it was a front for some sort of operation. Theories ranged from the owner being affiliated with a gang to the bar containing a mysterious basement that was used as a drug den. None of the rumours were true, but it wasn’t hard to see why people assumed they were.

The people in there took no notice of their arrival, being too focused on their drinks and meaningless conversations to care of their presence. Beatrice’s eyes scanned the room, looking in amongst the hordes of ruffians and deplorables hoping to find Fernald hidden away in the crowd. She didn’t have to search for long: her eyes caught on the glint of a pair of metal hooks resting on the main bar, trailing up to see the owner of them sitting by idly drinking a glass of cheap scotch. 

Nudging her husband lightly, she pointed in the man's general direction and nodded towards him. She didn’t even have to open her mouth for him to know exactly what she was saying, as he gave a slight tilt of his head in response and started striding over towards where Fernald was sitting. She followed close behind him, thankful that they hadn’t been noticed yet. If Fernald had seen them come into the bar he probably would have tried to make a run for it. With the way he was now, he didn’t seem to take much notice of anything around him, probably being on his third drink and already feeling the effects of intoxication. Beatrice stood off to the side of him and leaned against the bar, just enough in his peripheral vision to force him to acknowledge her existence. He noticed her almost instantly after that, though he still kept his eyes trained down on the half empty glass he was holding in his hooks. 

“Beatrice Baudelaire? Didn’t expect to ever see you again” he muttered, not even bothering to turn and look at her. She didn’t even flinch at his remark, her steely gaze being directed solely at him - a look that everyone who had even known Beatrice knew that when she wore that expression, she meant business. “We didn’t think we’d ever see you again either, not after that unpleasant incident with Gregor Anwhistle. However, strange as it might be, my husband and I have found ourselves in need of your assistance” she said in a brisk tone.

Fernald’s eyebrows creased, his head shifting around to see Bertrand standing off to his other side. Once the realisation dawned on him that he’d been surrounded, she noticed his body tense somewhat. He made an effort to hide this though, moving to lean forward against the bartop and taking another sip from his glass of liquor as if he didn’t have a care in the world and wasn’t nervous about the fact that they were directly confronting him. “What do you want?” he asked curtly. 

“We believe you possess some information that we’ve been desperately seeking for a good while now. So we’re here to ask you a few questions, and with your co-operation we can get this whole thing over with quickly and without anyone getting hurt”.

“That sounds like a threat”.

“That’s because it is”.

Fernald smirked against the glass of scotch, a couple of droplets from it leaking down onto the scratched up wood of the bartop as he still refused to face them. “You’ve changed so much, Beatrice. Aggression isn’t usually your style” he jeered, his voice sewn with snark. “And your questions are surrounding what exactly?”.

“I think you already know the answer to that. Our home was burnt down in a mysterious fire only a month ago, but I’m sure you already knew that. Tell us Fernald, what happened on the day of the Baudelaire fire? How exactly were you involved?” Bertrand questioned.

Even if it wasn’t instantly noticeable to the untrained eye, she could see his body further tighten from the mention of the fire that destroyed their home. Beads of sweat had started to form on his temple, glistening under the low level lighting, though he continued to maintain his cool composure and simply took another swig of whiskey. “The Baudelaire fire? And what makes you think I’d have anything to do with that?”. 

“Let’s just say we have some convincing eye witness testimonies” Beatrice replied. She would have added that Ernest had tipped them off of his location but realised that saying that would only be endangering him, and she’d rather not have any more innocents dragged into this mess - Ernest had already stuck his neck out and helped them massively by telling them anything at all. Revealing his betrayal to Fernald just wouldn’t be the best course of action, and it simply wasn’t right morally wise either.

“Eye-witnesses can be wrong”.

“We know you were involved, Fernald. Now tell us, what exactly happened on the night of the Baudelaire fire?” Bertrand snapped. 

He finally turned to face them, looking her directly in the eye while still holding the glass in his hooks. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard or what someone thought they saw, but you’ve got the wrong guy. I only heard about the fire through the paper. I had nothing to do with how it was set” he grunted. 

“Don’t play dumb, the witness claimed to have seen a man with hooks for hands in a car out the front of our home on the night the fire occurred. How many men do you think have hook prosthetics the whole city?” Bertrand barked, clenching his fist in his hand. He wasn’t one to lose his temper often, mostly being described as quite a mild-mannered man but he’d had enough of the endless chase for answers. They were this close to finding Violet, so he wasn’t about to let an accomplice to an arsonist evade him on answering crucial questions. 

“Who's to say they’re telling the truth? They could be making things up, lying to get attention and all”. 

“You’re the only one that’s lying here!”. 

The air around them fell silent, the only noises coming from the other drunk patrons in the bar. From studying his expression, Beatrice could see that Fernald was weighing up his options - tell them everything they needed to know, or make a dash for the exit. His eyes darted between them, and in one fell swoop he threw his head back and downed the rest of the whiskey and tossed the glass back down on the bar. There was half a second where none of them did anything at all, nor did any of them say anything, until Fernald saw an opportunity to take advantage of the situation and made a break for it, scrambling off from his seat and ducking away from Bertrand’s reflexive swipe at him. It all happened so quickly that Beatrice didn’t register what had happened until he was already racing towards the exit. She saw him throw open the bar door and broke out of her momentary trance, dashing into a sprint and absolutely determined not to lose sight of him.

She crashed against the creaky door to the bar, hearing the hinges shriek as she swung out of the front of the building and into the street. She scanned the area and spotted Fernald already half way down the road, speeding away from them at a lightning fast pace. It honestly surprised her how fast he could run, being intoxicated and all. Glaring furiously, she began to chase after him, feeling her heart pounding in her chest as she ran on down the street. Years ago during her days as a Volunteer, she’d engaged in many similar pursuits such as this and was adequately prepared for chasing down a villainous criminal, despite it being years since having to perform such an activity. She didn’t let up in her speed, almost narrowly missing colliding with several passersby as she pursued him. 

A few times he’d steal a brief glimpse over his shoulder to see if she was still following him, and upon seeing the frightening look of determination on her face pushed himself to run further, increasing his speed as much as he could. They’d gotten almost a block away from The Calamity Mary before he started to run out of stamina, causing Beatrice to catch up with him quicker. He tried to throw her off by doubling back into what he thought was a laneway through the row of high rise apartments surrounding them but by the time he realised it was actually a dead end alleyway he had already been trapped.Bertrand had managed to catch up with her by that time, and they both stood shoulder to shoulder at the entrance of the dark and narrow alley, confident that he didn’t have anywhere to run.

Fernald turned his head madly, searching to see if there was any fire escape he could climb up onto or an opened door he could duck through but to his misfortune the only thing he was able to see were piles of crushed cardboard boxes and a locked dumpster at the far end of the alley. He still wouldn’t let up, standing his ground and glowering at them from a safe distance. 

“You’ve got nowhere to run. Just tell us what we need to know, Fernald. Tell us who set the fire, tell us who kidnapped Violet. Leave out no single detail” Beatrice shouted. Still scowling at them, he lunged forward, hoping to circumvent them and ensure his escape but this time they were prepared for him. In the blink of an eye, Bertrand moved his body against his and slammed Fernald into the wall beside him. For someone who looked to be more of an intellectual, Bertrand was surprisingly strong, and Fernald clearly didn’t expect him to use any sort of brute force. For the first time since they’d spotted him in The Calamity Mary that night, he looked genuinely nervous of what they could do to him, his composed and devious facade melting away as if it were never there to begin with. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you what you want to know” he muttered, defeated. Although he was relieved at the man’s co-operation, Bertrand still didn’t loosen his grip, not wanting to give him any space to escape. It didn’t look like he would try anything now that they had him cornered, yet that was no excuse for them to let their guards down. “The boss had been planning this night for months, scheming to extract his vengeance against you two. He asked me to tag along and help him out in case things went south. We rolled up to yours at around 10 at night, and I waited for him in the car while he went out to do some light recon - figure out the best place to start the fire and all. He came back a bit later, instructing me to move the car around front and informed me of the new plan”.

It was exactly as they’d both suspected - the fire was an arson attack after all. Beatrice could feel her heart throbbing in her chest, consciously aware of every single beat and the intensity of her anticipation. This was what everything was leading up to. She knew that hearing what he had to say would be both a blessing and a curse, as even though they might uncover where Violet was being held she still was nervous to know what monster had taken her daughter away in the dead of night. Since it all connected back to VFD and their sordid pasts, it was highly likely that the arsonist was someone they knew. Several names of possible culprits already came to mind, each of them causing her stomach to churn violently once she remembered their faces. She knew that no matter who had taken Violet that both her and Bertrand would be able to take them on but the prospect of finding out just who was vile enough to steal away her little girl and hold her captive for so long was still terrifying. “Go on” she prompted, maintaining her strong stance by her husband's side.

Fernald continued with his explanation, his anxious expression permanently settled onto his face. “At around 12:46, we both started with preparations in setting the fire. I helped him pour gasoline around the lot while he broke into the house to do some final preliminary checks, and I assume to try and lure your daughter out. I returned to the car after that and let him do the rest. The match was struck, the fire was set, and a few minutes later Violet came stumbling out the front door to see what was going on. That’s when he grabbed her and dragged her in the back of the car, and instructed me to slam on the gas and speed out of there”. 

Both of them already knew that the events of that night most likely went down that way, yet it was still nauseating to hear confirmation of it at the same time. Their sweet little daughter, lured out of the house by the scent of gasoline and the sound of footsteps against hardwood floors, only to be snatched up and tossed into the back of an unknown vehicle. It’s a situation that every parent hears about but prays to God never happens to their own kids, the type of plight that parents rationalise could never befall their own family but still keep at the back of their minds. And Violet Baudelaire, by some astronomical chance, was one of the unlucky ones. 

“Where is she now? Where’s Violet?!” Beatrice demanded, clenching her fist so tightly that her knuckles were beginning to turn white. 

“I’m not telling you anymore than that. I’ve already done myself in by running my mouth about this to you two”.

“Fernald, so help me if you don’t tell us where my daughter is right this second I will not hesitate to beat you to a bloody pulp here in this alley. Who are you working for? Who’s holding Violet captive?” Bertrand shouted, pushing him further against the wall.

“Ok, ok, I’ll tell you! It’s Count Olaf! Count Olaf is the one who has Violet” Fernald cried out, already cowering away from him. It wasn’t a look they were used to seeing on him, and if the situation had been different Beatrice might have taken more notice of it. But the minute he uttered those words, the name of the man who had set fire to their home and kidnapped her eldest daughter, she felt a wave of terror begin to descend over her heart. Bertrand’s grip on Fernald loosened as he stood back, and he looked at his wife with the same wide eyed expression of fear that had formed on her own features.

A million different thoughts ran through her mind at once, all of them pertaining to some variation of “Oh fuck, Count Olaf has Violet, Olaf was the one who started the fire, fuck, fuck, fuck!”. Of all the names she had run through earlier, of all the people she suspected to be behind such a treacherous act, he was the one that she had been begging not to hear. 

She looked down at the grimey concrete of the alleyway, wishing that she hadn’t just heard his name escape from Fernald’s mouth, wishing she could go back to a few moments before she heard the name of the notorious villain and firestarter that had haunted her for years, in relation to the disappearance of her own daughter. Everything that had mystified her since the night of the fire started to make sense - it all led back to that night at the opera and the two poison darts that her and Bertrand had used to assassinate Count Olaf’s parents. 

Neither of them noticed Fernald taking advantage of their state of shock, disappearing around the corner and fleeing off into the night but neither of them would have cared if they had. They got the information they had needed, and the escape of a lesser villain wasn’t as important as the simple fact that Count Olaf was holding Violet captive. Her mind ran over all of the things she already knew about Olaf, and thinking over how long her little girl had already spent in the clutches of that vile man and all of the horrible things he’d probably subjected her to already made her want to throw up right then and there. Despite the nauseous feeling already arising in her throat, she didn’t end up puking at all, instead stumbling off against the locked dumpster on the other side of the alley. Casting her attention over at her husband, it was obvious the same thoughts were running through his mind as he just stared down at his shoes, running a hand through his hair and looking like he wanted to run straight outta there to find Olaf and beat him to death. 

They both stood in the alleyway, the implications of Olaf being the one who burnt down their mansion and the one holding their daughter prisoner fully becoming known to them, for what felt like hours. It was most likely only ten minutes, but it felt eternally longer. The same thoughts kept running through her mind, of every awful thing Olaf had probably already done to their daughter, every vivid image causing bile to creep further up her throat. He’d had her, for weeks, and they’d just been sitting there. Violet could be suffering at that very moment, and they were just standing in an alleyway in some shifty part of the city. It wasn’t logical for her to berate herself, if anything she should have been blaming the police for not even managing to track down any witnesses. Klaus, Monty, her and Bertrand had all gotten their information without the authorities help, but still she felt she came up short. If only they had been able to find everything out earlier, if only they’d managed to connect Fernald with the case weeks before, if only they had realised that keeping secrets wasn’t productive and had just told Klaus from the start about VFD.

But it wasn’t too late. 

“Olaf has Violet. Olaf...has Violet” she choked out, standing to her feet. Bertrand looked over at her, his face filled with both concern for her and fear for their daughter's situation. “We have to do something, we have to go home and tell Monty...we have to-” she stumbled, the terror evident in her voice. She tried everything she could to compose herself, even if it felt impossible at that moment. Taking a deep breath, she stared at Bertrand with those same serious eyes she had back in the bar earlier. “We need to get out of here. Now”. 

Every day had become the same by then. Her life had become a tiring and tedious cycle that only seemed to consist of cleaning random objects, avoiding Count Olaf, and when she couldn’t avoid him, doing everything in her power to avoid provoking him, which wasn’t easy. For the most part if she didn’t do anything out of the ordinary and just kept to her usual schedule she wouldn’t have any issues with him but sometimes it seemed that he was simply spoiling for a fight. She’d noticed by then that either on days where his plans were apparently not turning out to his liking, or on the days where he’d come back from some rehearsal agitated from some event that occurred earlier on, he’d start to lash out over the smallest and insignificant things - the day before she’d accidentally shattered one of his wine glasses, which had earned her a harsh slap across the face and a direct order to clean up the mess of shattered glass on the floor immediately. 

Sitting at the dining table with her body slouched over, she stared at the various marks on the wooden table from years of use, her fingers tracing each line that ran along its length. It had only been two days since that strange man had shown up at the door, and when Olaf had come back she hadn’t mentioned the incident to him at all. She hadn’t seen him much those last few days anyway, though she wasn’t exactly missing his company in the least. It would have been nice if the lack of his presence could have caused her to untense her shoulders and relax a little but time after time it had proven to her that she couldn’t let herself become complacent to him. There was always a chance he would just burst in whatever room she had taken refuge in and start bothering her again, so she took to being constantly on edge. It was a stressful way to live, but it was the only way for her to survive.

Every now and then she’d try to entertain the idea of escaping, conjuring up some fantasy in her mind where a miraculous case of deus ex machina showed up to save the day. These fantasies never lingered in her mind for long - she’d been too browbeaten by Olaf’s constant abuse that she couldn’t even imagine a reality where she would be free any longer. By all accounts, she’d given up. 

Another more common fantasy she partook in was the one where she mercifully died. Oftentimes it’d play out with her taking her own life: sometimes she’d tie the bedsheets into a noose and hang herself off one of the attic rafters. Sometimes she’d take something sharp, a small dagger or a box of razor blades she found under Olaf’s bathroom sink and slit her wrists, bleeding to death in a bathtub of running water. Sometimes, if she was feeling particularly loathful and bold she’d take the both of them out at once, usually with some sort of poison or using the cleaning products to create deadly amounts of chlorine gas. All of them, of course, ended the exact same way, with her taking her last living breath and the world turning black around her. 

Under any other circumstance, thoughts of one's own death would be worrisome but in her case it only made perfect sense that she’d be wishing for an end to her life. She’d gone through so much pain, so much suffering at the hands of Count Olaf, that the only way she saw out of it was for her to die. And she much rather her life be ended by her own hand than by Olaf’s. 

She never acted on these thoughts, still somehow holding onto the innate survival instinct that was inside her. Things were bad, they’d most likely become even worse in fact but Violet didn’t have the courage to end it all yet. Her hope for rescue or escape had been squashed, but her will to live was at least still half there. She’d only properly consider such a drastic measure if there really was no other way. 

Apart from Olaf’s regular tyranny of abuse, Violet was otherwise doing mostly ok, even though mostly ok simply meant “not yet dead or further mutilated by his abuse”. She still had unprompted episodes of nausea, though they only ever occurred during the middle of the night and were less frequent and intense than they had been previously. Her burns had only started to heal, and she still couldn’t bear to look at herself in the mirror after what he’d done to her face. From every time he lost his temper, a new set of bruises would form somewhere on her body, but she didn’t even notice them any longer when she took off her nightgown to launder it or when she bathed - that was just normal for her by then.

She could hear footsteps descend from down the stairs and she briefly considered scurrying out of the room before he would have a chance to come in and see her laying around but reasoned to herself that she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She’d done all of the frustrating and difficult tasks he’d assigned her, so there wasn’t any harm in her simply sitting at the dining room table contemplating. Unless he happened to be in a foul mood, which she sincerely hoped he wouldn’t be.

The doors to the dining room flung open dramatically and Olaf entered, spotting her sitting at the table idly. “Aren’t you supposed to be cleaning?” he sneered.

“I finished all of the chores on your list. I can go upstairs if you want me to though” she replied in a small voice. He looked at her with a sort of muted expression on his face, one she hadn’t seen often on him, before he walked on forward to sit himself down at the head of the table in his usual spot. “Get me a glass of wine, and bring the bottle in with you while you’re at it” he grumbled. 

Standing up quickly, she bustled off towards the kitchen to grab out one of the wine glasses she had drying on the dish rack and seeing if she could remember whether or not there was any wine left in the fridge. Taking a brief look inside, she closed her hands around the neck of a bottle of red wine and slammed the fridge door shut. She unscrewed the top off the bottle and poured out its contents into the glass until it was almost full to the brim. Scooping up the bottle in her arm and the wine glass between her fingers, she carried them back out to the dining room where Olaf was staring out the window, looking as if he were lost in thought.

He didn’t look up at her when she deposited the glass and bottle in front of him and unsurprisingly didn’t offer any sort of “thank you” in return. Not really knowing what else to do, Violet started to make her way out of the room when she heard his voice ring out from behind her. “Where are you going, brat? I don’t remember ever saying that you could leave”.

Swishing around, she fumbled with the tassel string tied around her wrist and mumbled “I didn’t think there was anything else more that you wanted me to do”. 

“Sit down” he instructed, taking a sip of his red wine. She didn’t hesitate in following his demand, seating herself back down in the chair that she’d previously occupied. Olaf watched her as she moved, swirling the glass of liquid around in his hands. She didn’t know what to say, or if she should say anything at all, so she simply stayed silent, looking down at her hands as if they were the most interesting things in the world.

“Do you know why I set fire to the Baudelaire mansion, Violet?”.

Violet blinked, astounded that he was even bringing up the fire at all. He hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about the details behind his revenge previously. Taking a loose strand of hair in her fingers, she twisted it nervously while thinking back to minimal bits of information he had given her over those few weeks. “You have an issue with my parents, or something like that. That’s all I really remember”.

He nodded at her. “Yes, I suppose that’s the simplest way to put it. Your parents and I knew each other a long time ago, regrettably enough”.

“I remember you telling me before” she replied, still fiddling with that strand of hair. “But whenever I asked about it further you never gave me a straight answer”. She was trying to choose her words carefully, as she didn’t want to anger him and end up being hurt in a far more painful way than anything he had inflicted on her before. “Have you decided to finally tell me the reason why I’m here?” she asked.

Olaf glared at her, placing the now half-empty glass back onto the table. “Yes, but also no. I won’t tell you everything but I’ll give you the general gist of it”.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” she retorted. “You seemed dead set against me finding out anything before”.

“Well, stupid girl, that was when you still had some semblance of hope left. You still had an irritatingly strong fighting spirit, and I couldn’t risk the chance that’d you escape with this sort of knowledge” he explained. “Things are different now though. Nobody out there is looking for you, and you’ve been so utterly broken that you won’t even bother escaping. The risk is now non-existent, and I’m feeling particularly generous tonight”. 

She wanted to scoff at him describing his decision as generous, as he’d never performed an action in his life that could even be remotely considered that but she didn’t mention it. Her curiosity had been piqued, and she’d been wanting answers for weeks now. She made a mental note to record as much of it down in her journal as she could once she got the chance. “How very kind of you” she replied, hiding the sarcastic edge as much as she could in her voice. Olaf hadn’t seemed to have noticed, too busy taking a large sip of wine and pouring himself yet another glass. “So, why are you doing all of this?”.

He didn’t answer her straight away, raising himself out of his seat and disappearing off into the kitchen after she had asked her question. For a moment it seemed to Violet that the whole thing was some sort of strange joke and that he wasn’t going to tell her anything after all when he returned with another empty wine glass. Placing it in front of her, he filled the glass up halfway and edged it towards her, silently directing her to drink it. She complied, bringing the glass to her lips and allowing the icey cold liquid to slip down her throat.

“When I was younger, I was inducted into this...organisation of sorts” he began. “At least that’s what they called themselves. It was more of a cult if anything. They took me a week after my eleventh birthday and began training me in various ways. That’s how I originally met your parents - they were inducted four years after I was”, 

Violet stared at him, at first being rendered speechless by what he’d said. Confusion crossed her eyes, and she thought for a moment that she was possibly dreaming, that she’d wake up back in bed to Olaf tearing the sheets off her. “You’re kidding right? There’s no way that there’s a secret organisation here in this city” Violet said slowly, a look on incredulity settling on her face. “That...doesn’t happen in the real world...it just doesn’t…”.

“Believe me, little girl, it did happen. What reason would I have to lie to you about this?” he countered. Violet took another gulp of wine and furrowed her brows, still not entirely believing him to be telling the truth. “Because you’re a cruel and wicked man? Because you’re trying to mess with me in some way?” she said.

“I won’t refute those first two statements, but again, what could I possibly gain for making any of this up?” he sneered. “If you’d actually use your head for a moment, then you’d realise that telling you all of this benefits me in absolutely no way. For someone so smart, you can be incredibly dumb”.

“Then why are you telling me?” she asked.

Olaf rolled his eyes at her, ignoring her question entirely. “Do you want to hear the story or not? Because right now I’m starting to think it would be much more beneficial to me to drag you back upstairs and lock you in your room. Would you rather that, Violet?” he snarled. She stared back down at the glass of wine in her own hands and let her long hair fall in front of her face. It didn’t take a genius to tell he was becoming agitated at her impudence, and it would be in her better interest to just drop the subject entirely and let him continue on. “I’m sorry. Please, continue” she apologised.

He regarded her apology with a snide curl of his lip, reaching out for the bottle of wine once more. “As I was saying, your parents and I were both part of this organisation. There was a split between two different sides, a schism if you will, though when I was first inducted it wasn’t at its worst. For years I was forced to memorise complex codes and embark on different tasks for the organisation” he continued, twisting off the bottle top and bringing the edge of the bottle to his lips, throwing his head back to let the rest of the liquid wash down his throat. “Fifteen or sixteen years ago two events took place that worsened the schism and tore apart the organisation forever, one of which had your parents involved”.

Violet trained her eyes down to her glass of wine, almost not even wanting to ask what event was so significant that it tore an entire organisation apart but simply getting up and walking away wasn’t an option.“What happened?” she asked nervously. 

“The first incident was only the start of it - a research lab that the organisation owned and ran was burnt down. The head of research, a man named Gregor Anwhistle, was killed in the blaze. Everyone was quick to pin the blame on his assistant, and that was when things took a turn for the worst”. He paused for a moment, staring off into the space in front of him, in a way that seemed to suggest some sort of reluctance at revisiting such a memory. “The other, and more heavy in terms of consequential damage, took place at the opera. That was the night that a box of poison darts made me an orphan”.

“Your parents are dead?” she asked, stunned at what she was hearing. With how snide and callous he’d been in calling her an orphan weeks ago, in such a derogatory way that indicated his feelings of superiority over her, it honestly shocked her that both of Olaf’s parents were actually dead. It was hard to imagine such a horrid person even having loved ones, but it just went to show how even the absolute worst of humanity still can have at least one person they care about. 

“Yes. And do you want to know who killed them?”. 

“I feel that you’re going to tell me whether or not I want to” she murmured, already beginning to come to the realisation of what he was insinuating. Maybe it would have been better if she didn’t know all of this and continued living in ignorance of the true reason behind her captivity. Gaining clarity on the situation still didn’t change the fact that she was trapped there for the foreseeable future, and right then she was mentally kicking herself for wanting answers so badly, as now that he was handing them to her and leaving her even more confused and upset. 

“You’re correct in that assumption, Miss Baudelaire” he mocked, his shiny eyes sharp and filled with burning hatred. “It was your parents who killed them. Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire murdered my mother and father in cold blood” he hissed.

Somewhere deep within her she’d been anticipating those words to come from his mouth yet it still came as a shock when she heard them for the first time. She stared back at him with wide eyes, her knuckles turning white from how tightly she was holding the stem of the wine glass. “No....you’re lying...my parents would never…” she stumbled.

“But they did. And now, since my grand plan to burn them to a crisp failed miserably, you are here suffering for their heinous deeds” he derided, his lips turning into a smirk when he noticed tears starting to form at the edges of her eyes. “Does this distress you, dear Violet? I thought you wanted to know the truth about all of this. Weren’t you the one heckling me for information this whole time, brat?”.

Desperately doing her best to hold back her tears, she crumpled into herself and sighed. “I’m sorry, ok? You’re right, I did want information, but not like this. My parents...they’re good people, they could never-”.

“One day you’ll have to accept the facts, dearest. The fact that so-called noble people can do wicked things, and that your parents are no better than the rest of us. They murdered my parents on the whim of an elusive organisation, and now I have their daughter captive in return. That’s the way of the world, Violet Baudelaire” he interrupted, still looking down on her. 

“That doesn’t justify anything! Stop trying to excuse what you’ve done to me!” she snapped. She could see him growing angry at her disobedience, though she still wanted to get her point across, opting to dial back her tone and resume a meek stance. “Even if my parents did do that, that-that doesn’t mean you needed to burn our house down and...and kidnap me!”.

“Yes, but at the same time it's fun. I’m not expecting any form of sympathy, and quite frankly I don’t want any. You wanted to know the real reason why I kidnapped you and I provided you with one. And to refresh your memory a bit, that isn’t the only reason why you’re here. You’re here because I want you, Violet. To possess you, to own you, to bend you to my every want and whim. If you’d listen for five seconds, you’d realise that I told that much weeks back”

She didn’t even bother trying to hide the disgust that she felt, shooting him a horrified look and recoiling in her seat. “You’re despicable. How do you live with yourself after all you’ve done?”.

Olaf smirked at her. “With a good amount of liquor. I’m aware of how absolutely dastardly and loathsome I am” he jeered, rolling his eyes at her, his speech coming out a tad slurred as the effects of the bottle of wine he consumed fully hit him. Leaning back against his chair, he groaned and vaguely gestured his hand in the direction of the door. “Now get out of here, I can’t stand looking at you any longer”. 

Violet ignored his order, feeling as though she was rooted to her spot on her chair. All of the new information that had come to light was entirely too much to process for her. If he was even telling the truth at all, which she was partially inclined to believe he wasn’t, the first bomb of knowledge that her parents were a part of a mysterious and enigmatic organisation was troubling enough, coupled with the other massive bombshell that they had been responsible for the murder of Count Olaf’s parents was even more horrible. 

She didn’t want to believe what he was saying was true, and the stubborn part of her brain wanted to disregard what he said as being a cruel hoax in order to protect herself from the revelation that her parents might not be as noble and true as she once thought them to be. Violet kept telling herself “he’s lying, he’s messing with you, he only wants to see you hurt” but somewhere deep down, in the darkest depths of her heart, she knew everything he had said to be a hundred percent true. 

“Are you deaf and stupid, brat? Go to your room” he barked, and only then did she move from her seat to trudge back upstairs to her bedroom. Once she was inside and away from Olaf’s eyes, she knelt over beside her bed and felt around for her journal, eager to record everything that had just happened, and hopefully, see if it could help her process these extreme revelations in some sort of way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams*
> 
> bit of a late update, i needed an extra day to get my energy back. also I gave Olaf a last name bc I felt like it.


	12. Chapter 12

For a lack of anything better to do, Klaus had chosen to seclude himself upstairs with his nose in a book. If things were normal, he would have been happy to have some time to himself, and most likely would have already been pages deep into his novel, lost in a fictional world, but for the first time in at least a long while, he was unable to concentrate on the book in front of him. He kept periodically looking towards his bedroom door, hoping to hear anything that would indicate his parents return, hopefully armed with answers and a clear idea on where Violet was being held. They’d left about two hours ago by then, and Klaus was starting to become antsy. What if something happened to them while they were out? From what he’d heard of that Fernald guy, he sounded dangerous. He knew his parents were more than capable of handling a crook like him but his worries refused to dissipate. 

His feelings of worry didn’t couple well with his anxiety to do with the looming arrival of news with Violet’s case. If everything went well tonight, they’d have a name, a singular person who was responsible for the fire and was holding his sister captive, and maybe even a location if they were really lucky. They’d be able to actually do something, give some direction to the still hapless police and hopefully bring Violet back home. Even though the prospect of news should have him bursting with anticipation, he also felt a quiet sense of dread. What if something had already happened to her, and they were too late? Klaus knew it wasn’t helpful to get hung up on what-ifs, though the thought still lingered at the back of his mind like the scent of perfume in a long abandoned bedroom.

Right as he went back to trying to read his book, he heard the sounds of a car engine stopping abruptly out in the driveway, followed by the front door to Monty’s house slamming open and a cacophony of footsteps arriving inside. Within an instant, Klaus tossed his book aside on the bed, not even caring to bookmark what page he was up to and bolted for his bedroom door. He could hear his mother and father frantically bustling around downstairs, only beginning to hear Bertrand’s voice calling out for Monty when he reached the landing of the stairs. 

“Monty, where are you? We need you out here, urgently”.

Monty’s head poked out the side of the Reptile Room door, his expression being one filled with both light confusion and concern. “Bertrand? What on Earth happened out there, are you two alright?” he asked.

“Count Olaf has Violet, he started the fire, he’s had her for weeks and we didn’t even know” Beatrice replied frantically, rushing around towards the telephone. At the mention of that name, Klaus saw his Uncle Monty start to become very pale, his eyes widening in panic as he began to pace the foyer back and forth, muttering “fuck” under his breath.

“Bertrand, go get Klaus, I’m gonna call the police and tell them everything” Beatrice instructed, hurrying to dial the number for the head detective that was assigned to their case, gripping the phone's receiver so tightly in her hands that it could have snapped in two under the sheer pressure. 

By that time Klaus was already halfway down the stairs, skipping each second step in an effort to make his way down as fast as possible. “I’m already here, what’s going on? Who is Count Olaf?”. 

His mother didn’t reply to him, instead waiting for the dial tone to finish ringing so she could begin relaying their newfound discovery to the detective. Instead, Bertrand stepped forward and turned to look at his son, and through a series of false starts he managed to blurt out “Count Olaf is a vile and cruel man. According to Fernald he’s the one who started the fire, and the one who kidnapped Violet”.

Klaus felt his heart skip a beat at the news of his parents finding out who kidnapped his sister, a bright smile beginning to stretch across his face as he looked back over to where Monty and Beatrice were standing. He was puzzled by their terrified expressions, watching how panic was ripe in their eyes. Shouldn’t they be happier about this new information? “I figured that as much, but why are you all so frightened? We know who has Violet! We can go save her!” he beamed.

Bertrand gulped, and glanced back over to where his wife was standing, still waiting for the police detective to pick up the phone. They both exchanged a certain look, and he turned back towards Klaus and began to explain. “Count Olaf was a part of VFD, years ago. He was one of the most notorious arsonists and criminals from that side of the schism. For years, we hadn’t heard anything about him, most former volunteers assumed that he was either dead or on the run, but now…”.

Klaus’ eyes widened, already beginning to feel tense. “You knew Count Olaf?”.

“Yes, unfortunately we did”.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His parents knew this terrible man? And they didn’t even think to consider the possibility that he was involved until now? Somewhere at the back of his mind, he was telling himself that it wasn’t fair to get mad at them over something like that, but what came out instead was a frustrated query in a tone much harsher than he initially intended it to sound. “Why didn’t you mention him earlier? If he’s this much of a threat, then why wasn’t he your number one suspect from the get go?” he blurted out. 

Bertrand sighed and moved to take off his glasses, wiping a line of semi-dried sweat off the lens with his thumb. “Like I said, everyone hadn’t heard from him in years, so we didn’t even consider him as a possible suspect at the start. Even when we realised that someone from VFD was involved, it still didn’t fully occur to neither me or your mother that all of this could have been Olaf’s doing” he explained. “Now, though, it honestly seems all too obvious. I feel like a fool for not figuring it out sooner - everything connects together”.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it too much, honey, none of us realised it was him until now” Beatrice piped up, glancing at her husband reassuringly before turning back towards the phone as presumably someone had finally picked up the call and was the on the other end of the line at that very moment. “Hi, Detective Hawkins, it’s Beatrice Baudelaire. We have something urgent to tell you concerning my daughter’s case. My husband and I tracked down the man that the thief described in his tip and we’ve come to learn who kidnapped Violet”. 

There was a moment's pause as the detective on the other end responded to what Beatrice had to say, and he could see her grow increasingly more agitated by the second. “No, I’m not playing detective, we did this because you refused to take on the thief’s testimony as evidence!” she replied firmly, grasping her fingers even tighter around the phone's receiver. All three of them looked on in worry as they saw her become frustrated, picking at the edge of the telephone cord nervously with her hands. “Listen to me! Count Olaf has had my daughter in captivity for a month now! His henchman confessed to it and everything! Please, arrest him or do something, anything!” she begged. 

There was another pause, a longer one this time, and with every second that ticked by Beatrice’s expression grew from one of frustration to one of pure disbelief, her eyes becoming wide in shock and her mouth hanging open ever-so slightly. Klaus wished he could hear what the detective was saying on the other end, though he had no doubt that she’d relay the entire conversation back to them after they got off the phone with each other. Actually, none of them even had to wait for her to hang up, as the next thing that escaped her lips told them all they needed to know about what the police detective was talking about. “You...you mean to tell me, that you got a mysterious 911 call from someone claiming to be held against their will at Count Olaf’s manor, you sent a police car over to check it out...and they just left….they didn’t even search the house, they just...left” she uttered, the incredulity evident in her voice. 

For a moment Monty, Klaus and Bertrand all shared one single look of shock that passed between them. A look of shock that was quickly replaced by a look of incensed anger to match Beatrice’s own. Klaus studied his mother, how she was practically fuming the more she listened on to the police detective’s babble. She didn’t even wait for them to finish talking before cutting in with a sharp “You idiots! How could you? You had a literal call from someone, a young woman, saying she was being held captive by Count Olaf and you did nothing?!”. Shaking her head, she continued on, hissing down the line. “I can’t believe this, I can’t believe the absolute levels of incompetence here, no, don’t tell me to calm down, I have every fucking right to be upset. This is my daughter we’re talking about! Olaf’s had her in his hold for weeks, and you’re trying to tell me that you could have rescued my daughter a week ago, but you didn’t. She’s probably suffering right now and you didn’t do anything to help her. You people disgust me”.

The room went silent, with Klaus guessing that the detective was trying to either backtrack or downplay their own incompetence. He couldn’t believe it himself - apparently, his sister had managed to contact the police on her own, but they didn’t do anything. They didn’t rescue her, or even check in properly after receiving such a distressing call. It sickened him to his stomach that they could simply just not care enough about his own sister's life to do something like that, and it frustrated him from a pragmatic point of view that someone could be that bad at their job. Still shaking her head, Beatrice snapped “I’ve heard enough of this. Thank you, truly, for your uselessness. Because of you, my daughter’s suffering has been prolonged and she could very well be dead at this very moment. And if she is, I’ll have you know that I will blame all of you for it” before slamming down the receiver, the sound rattling through the house and reverberating off the walls. 

Nobody said a word, since none of them even knew where to start. Bertrand ran a hand through his hair and leaned off against the wall, too stunned at everything he just heard to even begin to talk about it. Monty was much the same, though he looked more angry than shocked if anything else. Klaus felt somewhere in the middle, paralyzed by both seething hate for the police and pure stricken fear for Violet’s wellbeing. 

“So...it seems we really can’t rely on the police for anything” Beatrice mumbled, swerving around to face all of them at once. “You know what this means? We’ll have to take matters into our own hands”.

Klaus stared at her in astonishment. Was she actually being serious? “You mean...we’re going after Count Olaf straight on? We’re going to get Violet back?” he asked.

His mother nodded at him. “Yes, that’s the plan. Or at least, the beginning of one”.

“And...I get to come with you guys this time, right?”. 

“Sure, I don’t see why not” Beatrice replied, pushing past them to strut forward into the kitchen, stopping in front of one of the drawers and pulling out a large kitchen knife. “Where do you keep your spyglass, Monty? We’d use our own, but as you can probably guess, they’ve been turned to mere ashes now” she called out. 

“Mine’s hidden away in the Reptile Room, I’ll go fetch it now” Monty shouted back, already disappearing off into the room adjacent muttering to himself. “Chasing after Count Olaf again? This should prove interesting”. 

His father moved over into the kitchen to help his mother while Klaus stayed rooted to the spot. This was it - they were going after the man who started the fire, the one who was depraved enough to snatch up a young girl and keep her captive. It almost didn’t seem real to him: this was what everything had been building up to. They’d burst in, evade Count Olaf and get him out of the way until the police could bother to show up and arrest him, then they’d finally find Violet and bring her home. He wondered what it would feel like to see her again after so long, and about how desperately he wanted to throw his arms around her and tell her how much they all missed her. They’d bring her back to Monty’s, and life could go on as it used to, when they were all together and were happy. 

He was thrilled at the possibility of seeing her again, yet something still nagged at him inside. Thinking back over the look of utter panic that Beatrice and Bertrand had worn on their faces returning home kicked his mind into overdrive, questions he’d been pondering a few days before from when he’d been given a loose recount of VFD’s collapse springing to mind once more. Turning on his heel, he ran into the kitchen where his mother was shoving piles of stuff into a bag. 

“What’s the plan with all of this? I agree that we need to go after this man as soon as possible, but we can’t go right away. Who will take care of Sunny? Is she gonna come with us? Do you know where this Olaf guy lives?” he asked.

“We’re not going right now, I’m just getting some stuff together so it’s easier to grab when we do. I’m not too sure where he is right now, but I doubt that he would have left the city in these last fifteen years, so tracking his location down should only take a day or two. As for Sunny, I’ll get a sitter to come mind her on short notice, as I’d rather not put her in harm's way” Beatrice muttered, starting to unfold a large map of the city and placing it down on the tabletop. 

Klaus nodded, preparing himself for what he was about to say, as he didn’t know how receptive they’d be to his push to know the whole truth. “That’s good and all, but before we do that, you all need to tell me the whole truth. What vendetta does this Count Olaf have against you two? Why would he do all of this?” he wondered. 

Both of them looked at each other and then back at him, their expressions becoming less panicked and more serious and grounded. “Klaus, there are some things that are just better left unknown” Bertrand responded, looking through the drawers of the kitchen to find a phone book. 

“No! You don’t get to hide behind that anymore. You need to tell me right now why this man hates you so much, why his name struck such fear into you. Tell me now, or else...or else I’ll go after him, right now, by myself” Klaus exclaimed. 

“Klaus, don’t be ridiculous, you don’t even know how to find Olaf” Beatrice said coldly. 

“Then tell me what’s going on!” he shot back. 

Beatrice stopped packing things into the bag and stared down at the top of the table, coming to terms with the fact that he wasn’t going to let up on this and that she’d have to tell him everything. He could see her breath hitch slightly as she sighed, dread becoming apparent in her eyes. “Alright, you want to know why Count Olaf has a personal grudge against us? He was the volatile firestarter from that night at the opera, the one that all of this leads back to. He’s out for blood and vengeance, and he won’t stop until your father and I are dead or maimed” she revealed, her voice low and fragile, not soft enough to be a whisper but not loud enough to hear from rooms away. 

He felt fear start to fill his heart, remembering the things he’d already theorised and considered about that day in question, the opera event that they were so vague on. The theory that the poison darts that his mother had mentioned were used against someone that night, and now, with this new information, that theory once again bubbled to the surface of his mind as everything started to click. “What happened at the opera to make him hate you both so much?” he asked, his voice wobbling a bit. He wondered if he should even be saying any of this, but the words were already coming out of his mouth, accusing and in a pitch so low that it was barely even a whisper. “What did you do?!”. 

Beatrice stared at her own hands, wishing that she wasn’t about to retell the most awful thing she’d ever done in her life to her only son, wondering how he’d view her and Bertrand after becoming known to this. “Your father and I...we...we used those poison darts to assassinate Count Olaf’s parents” she stuttered. 

That was it. His theory was confirmed. Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire, on the orders of VFD, murdered Count Olaf’s parents with a pair of poison darts. The satisfaction of him being correct in his guess wasn’t nearly enough to outweigh how sick he was at the revelation. He’d take being wrong over this any day. His parents, the pillars of morality that he’d always come to see them as, were murderers. He moved his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came out. His eyes darted back and forth between his mother and father, searching for some sign that they were pulling his leg and were about to tell him the real reason why Olaf despised them. He was only met with two equally pained faces with eyes filled with regret staring back at him. 

The truth was staring at him directly in the face but he didn’t want to believe it. No. It couldn’t be true. His stubborn emotions fought with the logical side of his brain, processing the startling new information that had just come to light. “You….you killed two people. Both of you…” he stumbled. “Why?”.

“It was on VFD’s orders. Something to do with money, the fortune that Olaf’s parents had specifically. It was all for the greater good, or at least, at the time it was”.

Klaus blinked, his jaw still hanging open in awe. “So you killed two people over money? That’s the least noble thing I’ve ever heard of!” he cried out. 

“Klaus, please, I know it doesn’t make much sense, but that’s what VFD does. It makes orphans, steals fortunes, and corrupts young minds, and it did that for generations until it’s dissolution. Murdering Count Olaf’s parents was by far the worst thing your father and I have ever done at VFD’s behest and it’s kept me up at night for years knowing what I did. So you don’t need to heap on the judgement, as far as both of us are concerned we’ve already been feeling it for the last fifteen years” Beatrice snapped back, causing Klaus to freeze up. His mother had never lost her temper at him before: even when scolding him in the past she’d always remained calm and collected. Staring into her eyes, he saw the grief over her sordid past weighing heavily on her, indicating that he shouldn’t press the matter further. 

He still couldn’t quite fathom it though. Both of his parents had blood on their hands, and from a certain perspective one could easily blame them for what happened to Violet, as if they hadn’t killed Count Olaf’s parents then he wouldn’t have any reason to seek vengeance. Klaus knew that wasn’t a constructive way to view things, even so a small part of him couldn’t help but feel resentment towards them for what happened at the opera. The whole incident was chaos theory in practice, one singular night leading to a chain of events that still had consequences years later. Everything connected.

Since they clearly weren’t about to be chasing after this Count Olaf man tonight, and Beatrice had already expressed her wishes for their previous conversation to discontinue, Klaus skulked off back to his room, somehow feeling all the more worse than he did before they had come home, even though the information that they brought should have made his spirits soar. He was still relieved that they knew who had Violet, but it was all tainted by the realisation that his parents were murderers. He knew he’d be able to come to terms with it eventually, he just needed some time alone. Klaus’ entire view of his mother and father had shattered, and while he still didn’t consider them to be bad people he didn’t view them as the absolute pinnacles of justice and truth. So with that in mind, he crept back into his bedroom and buried himself under the covers of his bed, eager to fall asleep and wake up to another day where things would hopefully make a little more sense. 

Violet swiped a line of sweat from her brow, looking over the work she’d already done in the kitchen. It was the second time that week that he’d had her clean the cupboards, citing her previous efforts as not being up to scratch. He’d kept her busy, so busy that she’d barely had any time to herself, though it wasn’t like she really had anything better to do. 

It was ticking into the late evening, and she’d already made dinner for the two of them about an hour prior. For once he hadn’t forced her to sit with him, ordering her to go back into the kitchen and stay out of his way. It was a welcome change, one that she was certain wouldn’t last, predicting that in a few days tops he’d insist on her company again and she would be stuck silently staring down into the wood of the dining room table as she ignored the snide looks that he shot at her. Afterwards when she’d come to get the dishes he’d instructed her to spend the rest of the evening cleaning the kitchen, leading to her current task that she was fulfilling at that very moment. Throwing down the dirty cloth she was working with, Violet checked to see that she’d eliminated all of the dust from the cabinets edges, and once determining that she had, she lifted herself up and went over to the sink to wash her hands. She was finally done with all of this - now, she could go upstairs and catch a few hours of sleep before he started her badgering her once more.

“Oh, Violet!” Olaf called, and immediately she groaned lightly at the sound of him summoning her presence. Clearly she wasn’t going to get lucky that night and would have to deal with him for a little while longer. What else could he possibly want? Trudging over to the door, she guessed he probably ran out of alcohol and needed her to fetch some, though he could have just yelled for her to go get a bottle instead of having her come over to him. He never made things particularly easy for her anyway.

Reaching the door to the parlour room, she stopped at the edge of the frame and glimpsed into the room. Olaf was sitting in an armchair with his back turned to her, gazing into a lit fireplace in front of him. She hadn’t ever seen it lit before, and glancing over at the table beside him he saw his glass of whiskey was still half full. She frowned. If he didn’t want her to go fetch liquor for him then why did he call her?

“I’m here, what do you want?” she mumbled. He didn’t turn to face her, instead continuing to stare into the roaring flames of the fireplace. “Have you been an obedient girl, Violet? Have you done everything I asked of you?”.

“Yes, I cleaned the kitchen like you asked and completed the rest of the chores you set me” she whispered, not entirely liking where this conversation was headed. Already alarm bells started to shriek in her head, urging her to turn around and run away from him, but she didn’t do that. What she did instead was stand directly next to the doorframe and cross her arms over her chest, rationalising that he could just be messing with her and that if she kept herself in line she wouldn’t have anything to worry about. 

“That’s not what I was asking. I’m asking if you’ve been a good girl, dear Violet? Following my rules and orders at all times?” he asked, and though she couldn’t see his face she could still imagine the look on his face when he said that - his shiny, dangerous eyes glistening in the light of the fire, searching for something to hurt, his lips curled into his trademark sneer directed solely towards her. 

“I like to believe I am. I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?”. 

Violet heard him chuckle darkly, in a threatening manner that confirmed her previous feelings of fear over this whole encounter. “I think that’s for you to tell me, little girl”.

She couldn’t move. If she tried to run away, he’d chase after her, and he’d punish her. If she stayed there, he’d subject her to more torture. There was no way out of this, so she gulped and prayed that his newest method of inflicting pain on her would at least be over with quickly. “What is that supposed to mean?” she muttered. 

“I think you know very well what it means” he replied. 

“Stop playing games, Olaf. What are you trying to hint at?”.

His tone changed in an instant, switching from the more playful and conniving tone he was using before to one that made his displeasure with her even more obvious. “Well, dear Violet, it’s come to my attention that you haven’t been as obedient as I previously thought. I assumed after my little lesson with the candle wax that you finally buckled, but after going in your room today what do I find but this?” he hissed, moving his hand to hold up the object that had been shoved next to him just out of her line of sight, and the second she caught sight of what it was her heart plummeted in her chest.

It was her journal. She watched as he stood up from his chair and walked over towards the fireplacing, leaning against the mantle and looking straight at her with eyes that could pierce her soul. She felt her heart race as she tried to figure out how on Earth he had managed to find the damn thing. Had she not done a good enough job at concealing its hiding place? Maybe she hadn’t buried it deep enough under the mattress and he noticed. Wait, what was he doing in her room in the first place? Was he searching for trouble? Something to hold against her, for a sign of any remaining secret she might have from him? Her mind was in overdrive, her thoughts mashing together into an incoherent mess. She didn’t even know what to say to him, if she should own up to it or make a pathetic attempt at pretending she’d never seen the notebook in her life.

“Keeping a diary are we, dear thing? Creating a paper trail in case of your untimely death?” he snarled, flipping open the pages of the notebook and lightly skimming over its contents. Violet didn’t take her eyes off him for one second, worrying that one blink could mean the difference between her life and her death. He’d probably already read what she’d written, so all of this was most likely just for show. Olaf stopped on one of the newer pages, tracing his finger down the middle and along the wire binds. “And you’ve been signing your name on every entry. Was that your plan, Violet? To record everything down and use it as evidence against me?” he questioned.

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about” she swallowed, placing one foot behind herself in a discreet attempt at being ready to make a run for it. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, brat, why else would you be writing down every dastardly thing I’d done to you, if not to create a record in ink for your insipid family to find?”.

“Maybe I just wanted to vent to something. It gets pretty lonely around here with only you for company” she responded in a soft voice, focusing on keeping herself grounded and her breathing in check, her mind already wandering off to conjuring up vivid images of what Olaf could have in store for her after discovering this. From the look on his face, whatever it was it was surely to be worse than anything she could ever imagine. 

“I somehow find that hard to believe” he sneered, before turning back towards the fireplace and throwing the book into the inferno it hosted.

“No!” Violet cried out, stumbling forward as if she were going to leap forward into the fire to try and rescue the book. She couldn’t do that though, she couldn’t do anything but watch as the flames tore through her journal, turning the pages black and crumpling them into ash. Tears were now falling from her eyes, her voice coming out in a choking sob while she watched Olaf destroy the last thing that had kept her remotely sane in his confines, the one small bit of secret retaliation she had against him, now reduced to ash and smoke in the vortex of flames. 

She didn’t have any time to think about what to say to Olaf in response to her journal's destruction before she felt his hands grasp around her hair, yanking her off the floor and up towards him. She screeched in pain and felt him take his chin between his fingers and force her to look him in the eye. “You never learn, do you, Baudelaire?” he growled, fury settling across his face, hate practically seething through his eyes the more he glared at her. “I told you that if you were to ever defy me again that I would make things far worse than they already were for you. Did you think I was bluffing when I said that?” he bellowed.

“No, I didn’t, I know what you’re capable of, please-” she pleaded hurriedly but only got a sharp tug on her hair and his nails digging into her as a response. “There you are lying again, you little brat! How many times do I have to say this to you - you belong to me, you’re under my roof and you follow my orders, you don’t even talk without my permission, you do everything I say until the blessed day you die!”. 

“I know! I'm all yours, this isn’t what it looks like, I’m sorry…” she blabbered, pretty much already reduced to a tearful vapor. He regarded her apology with a terse curled lip and a low malevolent hiss. “No you aren’t. Seems I’ll have to teach you another lesson, my pretty little brat”. Through her tears, a startled look crossed her eyes at his threat and she was almost going to ask what exactly he planned to do with her when he pulled her forward sharply, leading her off towards the kitchen. She screamed at the pain shooting through her skull, her hair feeling like it was being torn out by his iron grip. 

He stopped at one of the higher cupboards and jerked the doors open, reaching inside to grip his hands around a coil of rope. Once he had it in his possession, Olaf pulled her back along behind him out into the foyer. Violet whimpered at the feeling of her hair being tugged on, softly begging him to let her go and to not do whatever he was about to do. He didn’t listen to her of course, choosing to forcibly shove her down towards one of the lower pillars of the staircase. She stumbled on her feet and crashed into the side of the stairs, landing straight on her backside and becoming disoriented with how fast she’d been shoved down. She barely had a second left to react when he pulled both of her arms around to the back of the pillar and began using the rope to tie them into place, until she started to feel the burn of rope against her soft skin, his rough movements towards her only increasing the pain. He tied it at the end with a double knot and snatched at it to make sure it was secure. 

“Please...I’m sorry…” she whined, watching him return into the kitchen and hearing the banging noise of him searching through the cupboards for something, her mind returning to those frightening visions she’d imagined earlier of all the methods of inflicting pain he could wreak on her. 

He came back into the room soon after, and when Violet caught a glimpse of what he was holding she fell completely silent, her face turning chalky white as a feeling of violent anticipation rippled through her, combined with her newfound understanding of just exactly how he was going to punish her this time.

“Olaf, please, don’t” she begged softly, her words barely coherent through her sobs, watching as he placed down a bottle of kerosene next to her on the floor and knelt closer, grabbing the edges of her nightdress and hiking it up to around her hips. Glaring at her, a dastardly smile broke across his face upon seeing her distress and torment, her eyes red and puffy from the mountains of tears that she’d been crying. “Scared, are we? You should have thought of that before you went behind my back and started writing in your little diary. If you’d only have listened to me, then I wouldn’t have to do this to you” he said in a mocking tone.

“You don’t have to do this anyway...please...I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she cried out. “I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll never do anything against you again, just please don’t do this!”.

“Oh, sweet Violet. How little too late your apology has come. But don’t worry - this won’t kill you, even if it will leave you writhing in pain” he laughed, straightening himself up and grabbing the kerosene bottle. His expression returned back to his signature scowl as he unscrewed the bottle cap and deposited the bright blue liquid all over her legs, making sure not a single spot of skin was missed. The liquid splashed onto the lower part of her nightdress, and she felt a wave of fear run through her as she realised just how flammable the cloth of her little nightdress was. What if things went so horribly wrong that the fire would spread to the rest of her body? She swallowed and looked back up towards him, not bothering to beg anymore and settling for loudly weeping to herself, her vision becoming so clouded with tears that she couldn’t make out any finer details of her surroundings. However, she could still see Olaf take out his lighter from the pocket of his coat and flick it open, watching the flame dance in front of him. She tried one last time to break free by struggling against her binds, a pointless gesture in the end as he brought the flame of the lighter forward to just above the top of her leg.

“Now, let’s see if this will correct your delinquent behaviour, once and for all” he spat. Violet opened her mouth to plead with him again when she felt a shock of burning pain run through her legs. She looked down to see that Olaf had moved the lighter down to her shin and caught the flame on the dripping line of kerosene coating them, igniting them almost instantly. She screamed out, feeling the flames rip through her skin, the feeling of it causing her to start flailing her legs around, catching Olaf’s wicked grin out the corner of her eye as she cried. The fire had already reached over every single part of her that he’d dumped lighter fluid over, covering her in a blazing burn. She didn’t know what else to do, or if she was able to do anything - the only thing she could focus on was the excruciating pain radiating through her, the shock of feeling flames against her skin causing her mind to descend into a state of absolute panic. Despite the flames being contained to the lower part of her body she could still feel the heat on her face, tears still streaming out while she let out another deafening cry.

She wondered how someone could be so cruel, so depraved to subject her to this much pain and misery, watching on in delight at her suffering. Olaf had taken to leaning against the decorative table behind him, his eyes glimmering fiendishly with sadistic glee the more she screamed and thrashed around. Would he put her out at some point, or would he continue to sit there and watch as the skin melted from her body, the fire tearing away at her nerves and reducing her nothing but bones? The thought of it made her violently sick. Violet continued to struggle against the rope binding her hands from behind, wishing that by some sort of divine intervention the knot he’d tied would come loose, permitting her to be able to try and put herself out. There wasn’t any point in wishing - nothing good ever seemed to happen to her, not anymore at least. If Olaf wanted her to burn, then she would, and if he wanted her reduced to a pile of bones, then she’d better prepare herself for such a fate. 

Violet turned towards him and cried out “Please make it stop! Make it stop! You’ve made your point, now make it stop!!”. He didn’t give her a reply, other than breaking out into a maniacal laugh. She expected nothing less from him but couldn’t even focus on his response, as the pain still hadn’t lessened. Squeezing her eyes shut, she hoped that she’d pass out from the shock soon enough, and wouldn’t have to endure any more of the pain searing through her. A small part of her wished he’d just do her a favour and kill her already, though she knew begging for him to do so wouldn’t grant her that mercy. Time moved by slowly, and by the time her adrenaline had kicked in enough that she couldn’t feel the pain as badly anymore, she began to feel her muscles spasm out, contracting and relaxing at a rapid rate, almost as if she was having a seizure. Stars danced across her vision as her breathing started to pick up the pace, her body jerking around in response to the traumatic injuries the flames were causing. She had no idea what exactly was happening to her, but dear god it was agonizing to feel.

She could hear Olaf deriding her for her reactions, insinuating that she was faking her convulsions to guilt him into putting out the fire, as if that was ever something she’d consider doing however she paid no attention to his jives, solely focusing on trying to get whatever was happening to her body to cease. A moment later, she heard him sigh loudly and start to walk towards her, grabbing her chin in his hands and forcing her to look up at him. 

“Please....make it stop…” she attempted to beg one last time, opening her eyes slightly to see him sneering down at her. “Why should I? If you don’t want to be punished, then you shouldn’t disobey me” he snapped, pulling the lighter back out of his coat and flicking it on. With no warning whatsoever, he pressed the burning flame directly onto her eyelid, eliciting a loud and haunting shriek from her. He left it on there for a couple of seconds, before removing the scalding hot flame off her and proceeding to do the exact same to her other eye, causing her to scream out once more in anguish.

“Why….why….” she sobbed, only just being able to suffer through the pain coursing through her eyelids to glance up at him. “Because I can” he spat, throwing the lighter back into his pocket and turning on his heel to walk over to the table he’d been previously leaning on. Swiping up a vase of dead flowers that had been sitting in the centre, he took a brief look inside to check the rest of its contents, then turned back over towards her and tipped it over her legs, releasing a gushing stream of dirty water onto her. She cried out once she felt the cool splash of liquid hit her legs, the feeling of burning flesh and skin starting to lessen as the fire sputtered out. Gasping out for air, her muscles ceased their contractions and her body started to become limp. She moved to crane her neck back so that her head was resting against the stairs, staring up towards the ceiling so she could avoid seeing the damage the fire had caused to her body. She knew she’d have to look eventually, but for now she wanted to savour the moment of relief from Olaf’s latest method of torture. 

“Thank you…” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. Olaf merely huffed and glowered down at her. “Don’t get too excited, I’m not done with you yet” he quipped. 

At that, her eyes shot back open and she turned to face him once more, her breath becoming shallow as her fears of prolonged torture started to return. “W-what? What do you mean?” she dared to ask. 

Olaf scowled, and reached for his pocket again, no doubt grasping for the lighter or some other hidden weapon that he happened to have on him. “Move your legs apart” he muttered.

She reacted quickly, doing her best to comply with his demand but the minute she started to move her legs she felt the same pain as before shooting through her, feeling as though a million knives were stabbing her flesh, causing her to squeal out in agony. No longer being able to ignore the reality of what he did to her, she finally forced herself to look down and see the extent of damage that had been dealt to her. She knew it wouldn’t be a pretty sight to behold but what she saw caused her stomach to churn in disgust and horror.

Most of her skin was burnt clean off, and up to around her upper thighs her legs were a shade of bright, blazing red. There were bits of dried blood spilling out from all over, and upon closer inspection some parts of her lower limbs had somehow turned black. Her first instinctive reaction to seeing herself like this was to hurl, though she couldn’t physically find herself able to, instead feeling her breath catch in her throat. The sight of it, her skin melted to practically nothing, didn’t negate any of the pain she still felt coursing through her. Her eyes were beginning to water once more, the longer she looked at her disfigurement the more distressed and horrified she became. She took no notice of Olaf during this time, who was off to the side watching her survey herself, casually flicking the lighter in his hands as if he didn’t just brutally mutilate her permanently.

“Didn’t you hear me, brat? Open your goddamn legs” he commanded, to which she looked back up at him with tear stricken eyes and murmured out “I can’t...I can’t move...it hurts too much”.

He merely rolled his eyes at her and swooped down, nudging her legs apart with his elbows. Her reaction was immediate, a loud cry strangled cry forcing its way out of her throat. “Don’t be so overdramatic, I didn’t burn you that badly” he chided her, already moving his hand down towards her centre.

If she had the courage to do so, she would have spat back at him, asking how he could say such a thing while looking at the horrific damage he already did to her. What came out instead was a low and fearful whisper, her expression turning ghostly white. “What...what are you doing?” she asked, seeing the flame flicker to life in his hands. He looked at her with a malicious and deranged grin, and was about to say something in reply before the sound of frantic banging at the door cut him off. Casting a glare in the direction of the house’s front, a look of annoyance at being disturbed settled on his face, his eyes turning furious and mad as he clicked the lighter back off and shoved himself off the floor. “Who is it? What do you want?” he barked.

“It’s me boss. There’s something urgent I need to tell you” a voice rang out from the other side, and immediately both of them recognised it as Fernald. Olaf groaned and sauntered over towards the front of the house, fumbling around in his pocket for the key to unlock the door. “Alright, alright, but be quick about it, I’m in the middle of something” he grumbled, twisting the key in the lock and allowing his hook handed henchman inside. Fernald scrambled in, glancing over his shoulder briefly to make sure nobody else was around. He spotted her as soon as he came in, and his brows furrowed slightly as he caught sight of the burns on her legs. “What’s going on here?”.

“Punishment detail. The little brat was trying to disobey me, so I was forced to correct her” Olaf replied, slamming the door shut and locking it up once more. “So, what is it? What do you want?”.

“It’s Beatrice and Bertrand. They know you set the fire and they know you have Violet, and pretty soon they’re gonna come after you”. 

From the moment he finished his sentence, the look on Olaf’s face contorted from one of mild annoyance to pure, unbridled fear. It wasn’t an expression she had ever thought she’d see on him, always viewing him as incapable of feeling any emotion other than incensed rage and smug self-satisfaction, yet she couldn’t properly enjoy seeing him look so terrified as what Fernald said replayed over in her mind. She’d heard him correctly, right? He’d said ‘Beatrice and Bertrand’, hadn’t he? Did that mean that Olaf had lied to her, that her parents had been looking for her this whole time? 

Olaf’s look of utter fear was short-lived, as it soon shifted to his more familiar expression of fury. “How do they know she’s here? My plan was foolproof, they’re supposed to think that she’s dead!” he hissed.

“I’m sorry, boss, they tracked me down to The Calamity Mary and cornered me. I was forced to tell them everything!” Fernald explained in a panic. 

With one fell swoop, Olaf swung his hand out and struck Fernald straight across the face, his eyes burning with intense rage, practically fuming in every way. They were the eyes of a madman, the eyes of a man who was so overcome by anger that he’d devolved to insanity. “You idiot! How stupid could you have been! Now not only do I have to deal with Beatrice and Bertrand on my tail now, they’ve probably alerted law enforcement! The street could be swarming with cops within the hour!” he roared. 

She still couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Olaf had lied to her this whole time, and her parents were out there trying to search for her. “My parents know where I am? They’re coming after me?” she whispered, not fully intending for him to hear her as she was more so trying to process the fact that someone knew she was alive. Maybe there was hope after all, maybe she wouldn’t remain trapped as Count Olaf’s sex slave forevermore. 

“Shut up!” he snapped at her. Turning towards Fernald, he sighed and shook his head in irritation, composing himself so that he didn’t look like he was about to slice someone open. “It’s fine, we just have to get out of here as fast as possible. Go grab everything we might need and get the car ready. And put out the fire in the parlour room while you’re at it” he ordered, prompting Fernald to dash off towards the kitchen in search of the car keys. Striding over towards her, Olaf pulled out a knife from his pocket and swiftly cut through the rope tying her hands back, letting them fall down lamely behind her. “Get up” he commanded. “We’re leaving”.

Moving her hands down beside her, Violet went to comply with his directive, not wanting to anger him further, and attempted to lift herself up off the floor, but the minute she moved her legs she let out a yelp and collapsed back down. The damage done to her was so severe that she could barely move her lower half without being in excruciating pain. “I-I can’t move, my legs are-” she whimpered.

Olaf groaned in frustration and grasped his hands around her waist, lifting her up and throwing her over her shoulder as if she weighed nothing. She gasped out as she felt him start to carry her up towards the stairs, her mind being a haze of different thoughts all crowding together for attention. Her parents knew where she was, and they were going to come save her apparently, and even though she should be overjoyed at the prospect of rescue, the fact that Olaf was now aware that they were coming after him dampened her hopes, especially since it sounded like he was planning to simply smuggle her off far away until the manhunt died down. Add that to the condition her lower limbs were in, and Violet still felt that she shouldn’t hold her breath in hope for any sort of pleasant outcome. 

They reached his bedroom soon after, with Olaf tossing her carelessly onto the bed, leaning himself down to crouch under the bed in search of something. Producing a large, dusty suitcase out from underneath, he slammed onto the bed next to her and clicked the lid open hastily. “Get in there” he snarled.

Violet looked between him and the suitcase, unsure of what to do with herself. Would she even fit inside there? It was a large piece of luggage, but still she doubted that she’d be able to fully fit without squeezing herself into the tiniest ball possible. Sadly, it seemed like that was what she was going to have to do as she had no way of escaping or evading him any longer. 

“Do I have to constantly repeat myself around you? Get in the fucking suitcase!” he yelled. Wincing a little, she followed his orders, shuffling herself as best she could into the bottom of the case, biting back her tears and cries as she folded her limbs in, feeling the heat from her legs burn against her cheeks. “Will I be able to breath in here?” she murmured. Olaf didn’t answer her, slamming the lid of the case shut over her head and locking it in place from the outside, leaving her curled up in the dark once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is a thing that happened
> 
> hope you guys feel horrified by this


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jfc i hope i managed to get this all right...

This was it. The moment that every single one of them had been waiting for. The moment that Klaus had been both fiercely hoping and anticipating would come to be: the day where they were at long last going to confront the man who had set their house ablaze and stolen away Violet in the back of a sleek and slightly beat up old car. Leaning against the window of the car, he looked over to where his father was sitting beside him, his expression remaining steely and collected, though underneath Klaus knew he was simmering with silent rage. Rage almost exclusively directed towards this Count Olaf man, and the desire to extract suitable comeuppance against this exact same man for his horrid crimes sat beneath the surface of his stoic exterior. 

Klaus felt much the same, truth be told - he’d never even met Count Olaf before in his life, but from everything he’d heard about him from his parents and Monty he sounded like a thoroughly abhorrent and detestable person. He expected no less from someone capable of arson and kidnapping, so hearing second hand about some of Olaf’s many different crimes during VFD’s heyday was only reassuring his already poor mental image of the man. 

Glancing around the car, he studied the faces of each of the people accompanying him on this trip: his mother’s expression was dark and largely clouded, most likely thinking of how to adequately prepare herself emotionally for confronting a figure from her past. In terms of equipment, they’d come prepared - the bag that Beatrice had packed included things ranging from rope to the kitchen knife he’d seen her toss in two days before. It only took them all a day to discover where Olaf had taken up residence in the last fifteen years: apparently after his parent’s death he inherited their old manor and moved into there after VFD’s collapse. That information had not been hard to find at all, since after doing some minor detective work and casually persuading someone in charge of city records to let them rummage through their files Beatrice had recognised the address and put two and two together quite easily. 

In terms of discerning his feelings towards what he’d learnt about the night at the opera, he’d largely come to terms with the simple fact that his parents were not as noble as they once seemed, and although it had been a challenge to accept he was able to rationalise the entire situation a lot easier once he put it into the context of the present: no matter what his mother and father may have done to Olaf in the past, it left for no justification towards his current actions, especially towards Violet. If his original plan was to leave them all for dead and to just take Violet away, then kidnapping her wouldn’t do anymore to add to Beatrice and Bertrand’s misery - you can’t cause emotional pain to someone who is already dead. So his motives with Violet were therefore entirely based in something else, something no doubt more dark, sinister and sickening, something that made Klaus want to throw up in his mouth just thinking about. 

He was only twelve, but he knew the ways of the world. He’d seen countless news reports from years gone by of a variety of rapists and murderers being caught by the authorities, and the court cases that followed detailing every disgusting and depraved act they enacted on their victims. It was clear to him what Olaf wanted with his sister, and the fact that by the cruel whims of a vile and wicked man Violet herself had become a statistic, yet another number to be added to the national tally of sex crimes involving long term detainment, made his heart break. 

What would she even be like when they came to rescue her? It went without saying that Klaus knew she’d be coming back with trauma, quite possibly needing to be admitted into some sort of counselling and therapy. He didn’t want to think of her as someone who had been through an awful, traumatic experience: he wanted to think of her still as Violet Baudelaire, his bright, smart, kindhearted older sister who had a talent for building unusual yet insanely helpful devices. And he knew that he’d always still think of her as those things. He just didn’t want to consider her as being a “victim”, as being broken or ruined in any way, even if that was the reality of the situation.

Klaus watched the cars pass by them in the other direction, his mind lost in what exactly he’d do once they’d arrived at Count Olaf’s place and found Violet. The first thing he wanted to do was run forward and embrace her in a tight hug, possibly letting out a cascade of tears while he told her how much they all missed her. The second thing he wanted to do was to throw hands at Olaf, maybe while screaming at him about how sick he could be to kidnap his fourteen year old sister from her burning home and hold her prisoner for over a month. He didn’t know if he would end up doing that, after all he was a skinny young boy and Olaf was a fully grown man, but at the very least he would hurl a heap of expletives at him. He knew his words wouldn’t hurt the man, and he didn’t want them to. He just wanted some form of catharsis, an outlet for the anger and hurt he’d felt building up since the night of the Baudelaire fire. Though judging from studying the looks on both his mother and father’s faces, as well as Monty’s, it seemed that they wouldn’t be satisfied unless they got in a good throw towards Olaf themselves. 

They’d almost reached their destination by then, and even looking through the rows of colourful and cheery houses from streets away, he could see the dark looming tower of a manor only two blocks ahead. It certainly looked like the type of house that a villainous actor and arsonist would own, so he wasn’t at all surprised when Monty pulled up to the side of the curb in front of the aforementioned property. 

Now that they were up close and personal to the place, the very first thing Klaus noticed about the manor is that it was in a state of horrible disrepair. Several of the upstairs windows were cracked or broken, some of them even having traces of duct tape slapped on from what he could make out. The steps up the front porch were half broken and the wood was rotting - from the looks of it the entire veranda needed to be replaced, and the fence surrounding the front of the property was rusted, the gate swinging open in the soft wind. Tiles were missing from the roof and when Klaus looked down into the vast expanse of untamed weeds that occupied the front yard he could make out some smashed up remains of what appeared to be the missing tiles scattered around. 

It looked like a place that would be abandoned, one of those houses that kids in the neighborhood would make up stories about it being haunted and would dare their friends to spend five minutes inside every Halloween, not the place where anyone with an ounce of self respect would live. Remembering what his mother had said about Olaf inheriting the house from his parents, he had to wonder just how it had fallen into such a poor condition, though he was able to answer his own question once he recalled the motives VFD had with wanting Olaf’s parents assassinated: money. It was quite possible, and truth be told almost exactly what probably happened is that after his parents were killed, the money Olaf was supposed to inherit was somehow stolen by the organisation, explaining the dilapidated state of his place of residence.

Once Monty cut the engine, Beatrice wasted no time at all throwing open the car door and sliding out, making sure to grab onto the bag she had stowed under her feet once her feet were planted firmly on the sidewalk. “Come here, I need you to carry this” she called out, waving over for her husband who had also followed her lead and disembarked from the vehicle. Klaus followed suit, feeling a rush of both anxiety and excitement the minute his feet hit the pavement below. Twisting around, he saw that his mother and Monty were already moving on forward straight to the house’s front door, and he scrambled after them as fast as he could. 

Bertrand took it upon himself to step up first, pounding his fist against the front door with a sense of urgency and impatience. “Olaf! We know you have Violet. Open the goddamn door!” he shouted, to which he received no reply but the creaking sound of the gate swaying in the light winds behind them. 

“We know you’re there, come out and face us!” he yelled out once more, continuing to bang his fist loudly against the rotting wood. Still, there was no answer, prompting Bertrand to take a small step back and sigh in frustration.

“Maybe he’s not home?” Beatrice piped up, positioning herself against the side of the house, wearing a look of deep contemplation on her face. “If he’s not here, then where could he have gone?” he replied, creases lining his forehead as he studied the door intensely. 

“He could just be pretending not to be there too, to try and see if we’ll go away”.

“Who knows, who cares. Let me try something” Klaus suggested, pushing himself forward so that he was staring down the front of the house. Leaning forward, he tried to peer through the boarded up windows beside the door to look inside, attempting to discern any sign of life from his limited vision. “Violet? Are you there? Can you hear us?” he called out. Once again, the only reply he received was silence.

“Why isn’t she answering? Why isn’t anyone answering?!” Klaus snapped, starting to become worried that something had happened to Violet. What if they were too late? What if Olaf had found out they were onto him and already taken her away to a second location? What if….Klaus shook his head, not wanting to even consider the more morbid possibility that had presented itself to him. Violet was still alive, he was sure of it. There had to be some good reason why she wasn’t hearing them. Maybe Olaf had her locked away in one of the rooms towards the back and she couldn’t hear them, maybe she did know they were there and wanted to rush out towards them but was being hindered by Olaf, being silently threatened into staying quiet. 

After throwing his fist against the front door one last time and still receiving no reply, Bertrand growled and twisted around to face them. “Alright, that’s it” he grumbled. “Monty, help me out with this. We’re gonna try and break down the front door”.

“Will that even work? It looks like it’s locked up pretty tight” Monty said, walking up the steps towards where Bertrand was already standing. “Maybe. The wooden frame looks like it’s decaying, so if we hit it hard enough it’s possible we might be able to dislodge the lock and let ourselves in” he explained, shifting himself sideways so that his shoulder was in line with the side of the door. “If that doesn’t work then we look over all of our other options. No matter what, we are going to gain access to this house and we are going to find my daughter”.

Monty nodded in agreement, and positioned himself similarly so that he was prepared to ram his body into the door. “Alright, I’m ready when you’re ready”.

Bertrand shot him a small smile, and with one wave of his hand he motioned for them to start pounding down the door. Both men crashed their bodies against the decaying piece of wood, the first impact not doing too much damage other than emitting a loud banging sound. They tried again, this time hitting it with much more force than they did previously. Klaus watched them as they thrust themselves forward, over and over, hoping that they’d get lucky and that they’d be able to bust through within a matter of minutes. To his delight and surprise, after the fourth hit the lock became somewhat dislodged, allowing his father to reach his hand through the small crack between the door and the frame and flick the lock inwards, causing the door to swing open and allow themselves access to Olaf’s neglected manor.

Not wanting to waste another second floundering around, Klaus ran forward into the house and cried out for his sister, his eyes rapidly scanning every inch of the dark and depressing building they’d found themselves in. “Violet?! Violet, where are you? It’s me, Klaus. We’ve come to rescue you!” he called, already rushing around to search for her. The first thing he noticed once he walked in was the startling scent of kerosene, infused together with the strange damp smell the house had. He soon found where one of those smells was coming from - looking in front of him, he saw a few patches of half-dried lighter fluid splashed down by the bottom of the stairs, staining the floorboards, as well as a couple of scraps of rope discarded on the steps with frayed edges, almost as if they’d been cut in a hurry. The sight of that alone was worrying enough, adding on to the fact that Violet wasn’t answering their calls for her, caused his stomach to heave. “Violet? Violet?!” he shouted.

His parents and Monty had followed in close behind him, though he didn’t notice until he heard his mother announce “Go through the entire house. Look through every room, she has to be here somewhere”. He didn’t need anymore prompting to begin his search, instinctually running towards the stairs and climbing up them to the second storey. From there, he ran into the first room he laid eyes on, finding a large and messy bedroom beyond the set of double doors. “Violet?” he yelled, peering around the corner to see into the large closet, hoping to find his sister somewhere in there. Instead, he was only greeted by mountains of unorganised washing and discarded clothes. He then dropped to his knees and searched underneath the bed, craning his neck as far as he could to see if he could make out any sign of a human body amongst the piles of boxes and long-forgotten empty wine bottles. Still nothing. Spying a closed door off to the side of the room, he went over and pried it open to discover an ensuite bathroom, regrettably with no sign of Violet in there either. 

Groaning in annoyance, he stormed out of the room and went off into the one across the hall, which turned out to be another bedroom. The sheets were strewn all over the bed, as if they had been pulled off hastily and the person sleeping there hadn’t had the chance to properly tidy them. The room was pretty bare for the most part, with two sets of bedside tables and a dresser being the only other pieces of furniture in there. He almost went to turn out the door entirely, writing it off as yet another disappointment in his search when he spotted something poking out from underneath the bed. Diving forward, he realised it was a couple of pieces of lingerie in a white shopping bag, indicating that it had been kicked under the bed briskly. Klaus was confused at what he’d found. Why would Count Olaf own something like this? He picked through the bag cautiously, not really wanting to touch any of the articles of clothing when he realised that all three sets were suspiciously small in size, provoking him to toss the bag back under the bed in disgust. 

This was getting him nowhere. He hadn’t found any trace of Violet, apart from a few sets of incredibly skimpy lingerie that he didn’t even want to continue to ponder on. Klaus was starting to fear the worst, that somehow Olaf had been tipped off of their plans to come confront him and had already taken Violet off with him to who knows where. They might not even be in the city anymore. Standing up gingerly, he ran back out into the hall to find where the rest of his family had gone. Leaning over the staircase railing, he called out “Father? Monty? Have either of you found anything?”.

Monty appeared out of the corner of his field of vision, having half-stepped out of one of the rooms to the side of the house.“So far, nothing, apart from a couple of scraps of burnt notebook we found in the fireplace. The pages appear to have some form of writing on them, but it’s been so thoroughly burnt that neither of us can make anything out beyond a few stray letters” he shouted back, shaking his head in disappointment. 

Klaus exhaled sharply, starting to feel a little bit defeated in this whole endeavour. Tearing off from the bannister, he set out in search of his mother, hoping that she might have managed to uncover some clue to where Olaf and Violet could have gone. It didn’t take him long at all to happen upon Beatrice, who had managed to pry open a large trapdoor that led into some sort of tower room towards the back of the manor. Glancing up into the room, it only just then occurred to him the vast amount of eye decor and imagery that had been present throughout the house. They were all either exactly or vaguely reminiscent of the VFD insignia, which he remembered seeing in  _ The Incomplete History of Secret Organisations _ . To say they unnerved him would be an understatement - everywhere he went he felt like the eyes were watching him, monitoring his every move. How could someone be comfortable living in a house with such creepy imagery? Then again, from his limited observation Count Olaf seemed to be a creepy sort of guy. 

“Find anything?” he asked, though the question was mostly rhetorical as he knew if his mother had found Violet she would have already announced it to the rest of them. Beatrice shook her head and resumed with picking through various boxes and discarded theatrical supplies. “Unfortunate as it is, no, I haven’t. This is the only thing I’ve managed to find” she answered, reaching out to hold up a makeshift grappling hook that she had discovered stashed away behind the rows of costumes. “It appears to be something that Violet made”.

At that very moment, both Bertrand and Monty came rushing up the stairs, standing a few steps down from where Klaus was. “We searched from the dining room to the ballroom to even the cellar. There’s no sign of Violet at all. I don’t want to admit it, but from the looks of it, it seems like neither Olaf or Violet are even here” Monty declared. 

Beatrice sighed and placed the grappling hook aside, resting her head in her hands. “Fernald must have told them about our encounter at The Calamity Mary. We were this close to getting her back, and now we’ve lost her again” she muttered. “I should’ve realised that when he escaped from us back in the alley. This failure is one I can’t blame on anyone else - it’s definitely on me”.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Beatrice. Besides, it’s not constructive to be focusing on blame or what we could have done differently - truthfully, we could have done many things differently leading up to this. What’s more important, however, is tracking down where Count Olaf has gone” Monty reassured. 

“If they’re not here, then where could they have gone?” Klaus asked. 

“Honestly? Anywhere seems possible at this point” Bertrand groaned, descending down to flight of stairs. “Maybe one of the neighbors saw something. Olaf would have only left a few hours ago at the latest, and if he panicked enough to leave in a hurry then he could have become careless and allowed someone to witness him driving off”.

Klaus stumbled down the stairs after his father, eager to catch up behind him. He followed on close behind him as Bertrand led them out downstairs and out of the house. Quickly scanning the street, he advanced onwards to the cheerful white picket fence house across the street. Immediately after leaving the grounds of Count Olaf’s property, Klaus felt a metaphorical weight start to lift from his shoulders. It was as if simply being surrounded by such a filthy and dreadful place put a damper on his mood, even if he wasn’t consciously aware of the fact that his older sister had been held captive and abused within those very walls.

Reaching forward, Bertrand tapped the brass doorbell, hearing it emit a sing-songy tune that carried itself through the air. A moment later the door opened up to reveal a middle aged woman standing behind it, wearing a sharp black pencil skirt and a sensible white blouse, her dusty brown hair swept back into a loose bun at the back of her head, a few gray hairs strewn throughout her head. “Hello? Is there something I can help you with?” she asked.

“Hi, I realise this may come across as a bit of an odd question, and I do apologise for disturbing you but we were both wondering if you happened to know the man who lives across the street?”.

The woman blinked slowly as if she was surprised to have been asked about such a thing. “Oh, you mean Count Olaf? No, I don’t really know him that well. We’ve scarcely spoken in all my years of living here” she replied, shaking her head lightly before she plastered on a warm smile and extended out her right hand. “And don’t be so polite, I wasn’t doing anything particularly important. I’m Justice Strauss, one of the members of the High Court”. 

“I’m Bertrand Baudelaire, and this is my son Klaus” Bertrand introduced, taking her hand in his and shaking it firmly. The mention of his name caused Justice Strauss’ brows to furrow, a look of vague recognition passing over her. “Baudelaire? That name sounds almost familiar” she mused.

“You’ve probably heard our name from the news. My older sister, Violet, recently went missing” Klaus explained. 

“That’s right, I remember reading about her case in The Daily Punctilio. I’m so sorry that such a terrible tragedy had to befall all of you - for you to not only lose your home but to also find a member of your own family missing, why I can’t even imagine how you’d all be feeling” Justice Strauss smiled sympathetically. 

Bertrand sighed. “We’re managing, somehow. Actually, we’ve been attempting to locate Count Olaf these past couple of days in relation to my daughter's case, so we came here in search of him only to find his house vacant. You wouldn’t have happened to have seen him leave in the last few hours?”.

She hummed to herself quietly as she pondered on what he’d said, flicking back through her memories of the last 24 hours to see if there was any point where she’d seen Olaf leave his house. She didn’t think about it long, as soon enough the memory of seeing him out on the street the night before sprang directly to her mind. “Now that I think about it, I do remember seeing him late last night loading up the trunk of his car with some sort of large suitcase. I had to stay behind at work late and therefore didn’t get to do my shopping until afterwards, so I was more preoccupied with the large bags of groceries in my hands and didn’t think too much of it at the time. I assumed he was going on vacation or the like, but looking back he did seem to be in quite a hurry to leave” she prattled before her expression shifted to one of deep concern. “I’m sorry, what exactly do you mean about him being involved with Violet’s case?” she queried. 

“We believe that he’s the one who kidnapped Violet” Klaus blurted out, not even bothering to wait for his father to speak up. It wasn’t like they were trying to keep their suspicions towards Olaf a secret, so in his mind there was no harm in telling Justice Strauss the truth about the whole situation. 

Justice Strauss’ first reaction was to gasp silently, her eyes growing wide as a troubled look spread across her dainty features. “Oh my! Have you told the police at all?”. 

“The police haven’t exactly been helpful throughout this entire mess, so we decided to take matters into our own hands” Bertrand admitted.

“But...but that’s incredibly dangerous! If what you’re saying is true and Count Olaf is responsible for all this, then he’s clearly capable of arson and kidnapping. Who knows what else he’s able to do? To me, it really sounds like a job best suited for the authorities” Justice Strauss advised, becoming increasingly more concerned by the minute. 

“I appreciate the concern, Justice Strauss, but we know what we’re doing” Bertrand fired back in a firm tone. “My wife and I are more than equipped to handle whatever Count Olaf throws our way”. 

Realising that neither of them were about to change their stance on the issue, she settled for sighing to herself and shrugging lightly. “I suppose I shouldn’t judge, after all I’ve only known you for all of five minutes. Sadly, what I’ve already told you is all the information I can offer, though I wish you both luck in your search for Violet” she said, giving them a quick nod and a soft ‘goodbye’ as she stepped back inside her house, closing the door gently in front of them.

Klaus couldn’t help but let out a low groan in annoyance. They had confirmation that Olaf had indeed gone on the run and that he'd taken Violet with him in some sort of large suitcase, though they already had mostly figured that out for themselves during their sweep of the house. Even so, they still had no clue where he’d gone or had any idea of how to find him. Grinding his shoes against the stoney footpath, he kept his head down as he followed his father back out of Justice Strauss’ neat and colourful yard and onto the road, his mind racing to figure out a way that they could track Olaf down. 

They’d gotten this far, so they’d be damned if they gave up now. He knew that every single one of them weren’t going to let up in their search until they found Violet, and that as frustrating as this new development was, it was only a temporary roadblock and wouldn’t be impossible to find a way around. Maybe Monty or someone else would have an idea of any places that Olaf was likely to hide out at, or any other associates they could hunt down for information. Whatever method of attack they chose, however much more work it took to uncover his sisters location, it was all worth it in the end if it led to having Violet back with them once more. 

With a mournful gaze, she’d kept her eyes trained down to her knees the entire time she’d been in that room. If she’d been able to, she would’ve looked out the windows for something to do but the minute they’d clambered into the motel room late last night Olaf had instructed Fernald to draw the blinds shut, an action she didn’t see him perform as she’d still been locked inside that dratted suitcase. He let her out soon after, roughly shoving her onto the scratchy bedspread and ignoring her small yelp as the blinding shock of pain coursed through her, and that’s where she’d stayed all night, half lying down against the cheap motel comforter and doing her best to keep her distance from the man who slept beside her. 

She didn’t notice herself fall asleep, only realising that any time had passed at all when her eyes were fluttering open as she registered the sounds of movement in the room around her. Olaf had left her alone not long after she first woke up, instructing her to ignore anyone that came to the door and to not cause any trouble. Like she would even be able to do anything in her condition, she thought bitterly. With the way her legs were she didn’t think she’d ever be able to walk again. 

Violet found it best to keep herself in the one position, as moving would cause her limbs to succumb to the writhing pain that Olaf’s most recent exercise in torture had caused on her. She’d figured out pretty early on that the fire had burnt through enough of her skin to permanently cripple her, so the only way she could get around anymore was by crawling slowly. After processing the shock of losing the ability to walk and descending once again into hopeless despair, she’d managed to position herself so that she was resting against the pillows and spread her legs out as much as she was able to without them hurting too badly. 

She didn’t know how long Olaf had been gone for, or when he’d return, but in all honesty her mind wasn’t too focused on those particular questions at that very moment. Instead, she was thinking of what Fernald had said last night, claiming that her parents knew where she was and were coming to get her. It came as quite a shock that anyone was searching for her at all, after what she’d been led to believe in her entire time held prisoner. She should’ve realised earlier that Olaf had been lying to her the entire time, toying with her mind to make her break beneath him easier, and she felt foolish for believing him so readily. Though really, who could blame her? Violet had been in captivity for a little over a month by then, and up until that point nobody had made any visible attempts at rescuing her, not to mention the fact that her only call to the authorities had failed in some way. It was only logical for her hope to begin to falter. 

Strange as it was, as she was looking around the dingey little motel room, studying the weird mysterious stains in the carpet as if they were the most interesting things in the world, she noticed that for once a completely different feeling was overriding her usual sense of constant fear and dread - she was actually incredibly bored. For the first time ever, she had taken a strong notice of the lack of activities for her to do during that time. Usually back at the manor Olaf had kept her busy enough with his list of difficult chores that she didn’t have time to be bored, and whenever she would have a spare moment to herself she would often be too struck by the constant weight of paranoia and the feeling of having to be vigilant at all times to truly immerse herself in any other activity. She wished she had a book with her, or something to tinker with, anything that would keep her occupied. If she would be forced to stay in the one position for hours on end, waiting for Olaf to make a return, then shouldn’t she at least be afforded the luxury of having something to do during that time?

Glancing over at the chest of drawers by the windows, she wondered if they’d even have anything inside them. Most likely they wouldn’t, but maybe one of the previous occupants had accidentally left a book or sketchpad in there. She wanted to go over and check, yet after only faintly moving her leg to the left and feeling the shooting pain that such an action had caused she decided to discard the whole idea entirely and just continue to sit there as she was, waiting.

At that moment, her stomach let out a loud strangled groan, indicating that she needed to eat something. She realised that it wasn’t entirely plausible that Olaf would bring her back something to eat, but she still hoped for it anyway. With that said, she heard the jingle of keys outside the door and tensed up, preparing herself for him to arrive inside at any second. The lock clicked and the door burst open, with Olaf sauntering on in carrying a white plastic bag filled with a few small items. “Did anyone come while I was gone?” he asked curtly, locking the door back up behind him. 

“No, nobody has been here. Everything’s been kind of quiet” she muttered. Olaf hummed, appearing to be pleased with her answer. He reached his hand into the shopping and rifled around through it, grabbing his hands around a packet of chips and pulling them out. “Here, you can have these'' he murmured, tossing them over to her abruptly. She leaned forward to snatch them out of the air, turning the packet over in her hands so that she could open them. “Thank you. I didn’t expect you to buy me anything” she whispered, earning a dramatic eyeroll and sneer from him in return. Tearing open the packet with her hands, she grabbed a handful of chips out and shoved them in her mouth, not caring in the least whether she looked dignified or well-mannered - she was starving, and Olaf himself had horrible manners anyway so him pointing out her lack of them would be the height of hypocrisy for him.

They both sat in silence for awhile, not wanting to say anything to each other, or even look at each other, the only noise filling the room coming from the crinkling chip packet. He’d sat himself over on a chair by the door, lounging lazily and toying with a lighter in his hands. She watched him flick the flame on and off over and over again, hiding her face behind her hair so she could conceal the nervous look in her eyes. She hated seeing him fidget with something that had only ever been used to hurt her so casually, and she almost wondered if he was about to use it against her once more in some way. For once, though, he didn’t do anything of the sort. He continued toying with the lighter for a few moments more before he sighed and tossed it onto the small table next to him. Staring back up at her, he reached into the pocket of his long coat and produced a small white square box. “Don’t suppose you’d know how to play blackjack, would you?” he asked. 

Violet looked at him in confusion, not entirely registering what he was asking of her. “Um, no, but I’m a fast learner” she replied in a puzzled tone, setting aside the now mostly empty chip packet and staring at him curiously.

Olaf took her answer in stride and lifted himself off the chair, edging over to where she was seated on the bed. Opening the box up, he deposited the deck of cards into his hands and shuffled through them, ignoring her bewildered expression. “I’ll show you. The objective of the game is to beat the dealer by getting a count closest to 21, without actually going over 21. As you can probably guess, I’ll be taking the role of the dealer” he explained while cutting the deck and splitting the cards off between them. Violet blinked at him slowly, choosing to approach the situation with caution as best she could. Why was he trying to play cards with her?

Upon catching a glimpse of her perplexed expression, Olaf rolled his eyes upwards and clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m sure you're as bored as I am here, so why not try to do something entertaining with the time?” he muttered. 

“Yes, but the difference is that you’re the one who wanted to come here. I never asked for this” she mumbled under her breath, picking up the cards in her hands. He’d given her exactly two - one faced down, the other faced upwards. 

“Jesus, can’t a man play a card game with his captive without being endlessly scrutinized over it?” Olaf remarked, discarding the rest of the deck off the side of the bed. 

“The fact that you just referred to me as your captive somehow doesn’t make this impromptu desire to play a card game any less unsettling”. 

“Awfully testy today, aren’t you? You better watch your tone” he grumbled, indicating that it’d be in her best interest to keep her mouth shut and just learn to play the game. “Usually players place bets in this, but seeing as everything you owned burnt up in a fire I suppose we can play without bets. There are only two ways you can lose. The first way is by going over 21, and the second way is if the dealer beats you out and gets closer to 21. Cards 2 through to 10 have the same values as what they say on the card. Jacks, Queens and Kings are worth 10, and aces are either worth 1 or 11 depending on the hand. In games of two, the other player always goes first” he explained, gesturing towards her. 

“So, what do I do now?”. 

“You can either pick up more cards, which is called a hit, or stay, meaning to keep the cards you already have” he said. “Though people only tend to stay when they’re confident that their hand is the closest to 21, so I’d advise you to think carefully on it if you really want to win”. Violet looked down at her two cards - a spade of 9 and a spade of 2, totalling to 11. It wasn’t that high of a number to start off with, but it wasn’t too low either. Unless by some chance Olaf managed to draw two cards valuing higher, it’d be wise of her to reach out and pick up another card for the time being. 

“I’ll hit then” she announced, picking up what she soon discovered to be an ace. Going over the numbers in her head, she realised giving the ace a value of 11 would put her total over to 22, effectively meaning she’d lose the hand, so instead she decided to count it as a 1. She looked up towards Olaf and noticed the smug grin already spread across his face. It was clear to her from his expression alone that he was confident that he was going to win this round, and she pondered for a moment just how seriously he was taking the whole game. Was he just doing this because he was bored, or was there some sort of trap she wasn’t seeing? “Your turn” she directed. 

Smirking, he leaned back on his free arm and hummed to himself, almost as if he was actually pretending to consider his options, even though it was incredibly obvious what his choice was going to be. “I’ll stay for this one. You go”. 

“Already confident in your victory, are you?’ she quipped. Olaf shrugged in reply. “Just wondering if you’d be able to beat me first try, that’s all”.

Violet would have felt inclined to roll her eyes at him, feeling annoyed as usual at his antics, but she wasn’t about to trigger his anger, as to the best of her memory this was the only time in her entire stay with him that he was actually acting semi-decently towards her. Well, as decent as someone as vile as Count Olaf could be. Scooping up another card in her palms, she added it to her hand and tallied the values together in her head: she’d picked up a 10 of hearts, which put her just on 21. Keeping her face as blank and unreadable as she possibly could, she smiled at herself internally as she realised there was no way she could be beat now - he had to have a hand lower than hers if he’d chosen to stay that early in the game. Olaf must have thought he got lucky on his beginning cards putting him close to 21, but Violet had still surpassed him. “I’m assuming you’re choosing to stay once more?” she asked. 

“Correct. You want to stay or hit?”.

“Stay”. 

Olaf sniggered at her. “If that’s what you want. Throw down your cards, dearest” he ordered in a snarky tone. They both threw down at the same time, with her catching sight of his two original cards, a Jack and 7 of diamonds. Olaf continued to look smug for a lingering few seconds, only realising that he’d lost once he bothered to glance over at her cards. Immediately, his expression changed from one of confidence to mild annoyance. It didn’t surprise Violet that he’d end up being a sore loser about the whole thing, though she only hoped that would mean he’d want to go for round two and not behave like a raging savage about it. 

“Beginners luck. Let’s go again, best out of three” he snarled, dealing the both of them with new cards. 

This time round Violet had a Queen and 5 diamonds, adding up to 15. She went with keeping the cards she had for the first round, and Olaf chose to hit. He ended up winning that hand, which lifted his mood considerably, though it didn’t last for long as she won the next round following. 

They played a couple more hands, going through the deck of cards between them with incredible speed. Everytime Olaf lost, he insisted they kept playing, which didn’t bother Violet too much as truth be told, blackjack was a nice distraction from the unending dread of her situation, but as they started to near closer down to the bottom of the deck she began to worry of what would happen when they reached the end. How would he react? She knew all too well that he was a highly volatile man, and a sore loser at that, so if she ended up winning the game overall he could use that as another excuse to inflict more pain on her. She hoped he wouldn’t, since even though they were in the confines of the dreary little motel room there was a higher likelihood that someone would hear her screams and come check on them, and Olaf’s whole reason for bringing them there in the first place was to lay low. He wouldn’t do anything that would purposefully alert anyone else of her captivity, would he?

She considered for a moment purposefully trying to play a bad hand so it would lower her win tally and give him a lead, but really, she didn’t want to. It was kind of fun being able to focus on something that wasn’t the agonising pain shooting through her legs or the worry that her parents would never find her, and she didn’t want to go back to just staring at the walls all day long. Memories from what felt like a lifetime ago of her playing board games with her family began to cloud her mind, her competitive nature from every game of Monopoly or Battleships won beginning to return to her. 

At long last, the game finally came to an end when they were just short of finishing the entire deck. Violet looked down at the cards piled up next to and over to him, taking note of his much smaller pile. She hadn’t been lying about being a fast learner, having picked up on the game super easily. If the circumstances were different she might have actually allowed herself to relax a bit more. 

She heard Olaf call out to reveal her cards and she complied swiftly, twisting them around to show him her hand of one ace and two 5 diamonds, noting that it beat out his hand of 5 clubs, 2 diamonds and 6 hearts. 

“Game, set, match. I have the most wins overall, so I beat you” she declared, throwing down her set of cards in front of her, almost not being able to fully hide her grin from winning. She could see him staring her down, scowling at her furiously as she celebrated her victory over him. “Impossible. There’s no way someone who only learned how to play in one afternoon could have that many wins” he commented. 

Violet shrugged back at him, already moving to pack up the cards. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m more strategic than you. Just accept it”.

“I won’t. You had to have cheated”. 

“How? You saw every move I made. I played the game a hundred percent fairly, and you just happened to lose. Get over it” she muttered under her breath, working on collecting the cards into one shuffled deck and pushing them back into the small box they’d come from. However, before she even got the chance to properly put them away she felt a hand strike her directly across her cheeks, causing her to cry out in shock and to drop the box she was holding. She fell over onto her side, the absolute force of his assault pushing her down into the bedsheets and eliciting a whimpering cry from her. “What was that for?! There was no need!” she sobbed. 

She didn’t receive an immediate answer, as Olaf lunged himself forward towards her and moved his weight so he was directly on top of her, using his arm to pin her down by the neck and producing a sharp looking switchblade from his back pocket. “I must say, for someone who’s been through harrowing amounts of torture, you seem to be getting awfully brave all of a sudden. I honestly thought that you’d learn to not insult the sole person who decides whether you live or die” he growled, pressing the blade up against the bare part of her neck so that she could only just feel the cold metal scrape against her skin, sending chills throughout her small body. 

“Insult? I didn’t mean...it was just banter, it’s just a game Olaf” she sputtered, her delicate skin turning ashen white the more he rubbed the blade against her neck. “Please, get off me, I didn’t mean to offend you, I promise”. 

He disregarded her request, continuing to move the blade back and forth over her. “I’m very aware that it’s just a game, but you bragged about your victory and I don’t consider that to be very nice of you”

“I wasn’t-” she started, finding herself to be cut off by him pressing his hand down further on her neck and holding the blade firmer against her neck. “Don’t talk back, Baudelaire. Or have not taken notice of the knife pressed against your pretty neck?” he threatened. “Now, listen carefully, because I’ll only give you this chance once: I’ll be willing to overlook your attitude if you are able to provide me with a sincere apology for your incessant boasting. What do you say to that, dear Violet?”

What she probably should have done was try to muster up a fake apology to him, doing her best not to come off as insincere and hoping that he’d take it in stride and leave her alone. But something in her just refused to let her say those simple words. She didn’t want to take any more of his nonsense. It was exhausting to constantly live in fear of what he could do to her, to have to think meticulously over every word that escaped her lips to ensure that he wouldn’t find anything to take offense to, to constantly police her own behaviour to keep him from becoming angry. She initially stopped fighting because she couldn’t take any more of it, she simply didn’t have the willpower for it any longer. She even thought if she tried to bend to his ridiculous demands and accommodate to his ever-changing moods that he might spare her from more excessive torture. Yet even that hadn’t stopped him from causing her pain, to the point where she’d been completely disfigured for the rest of her life. It was because of all this that she instead shifted her gaze into a glare and spat out in dangerous defiance. “No”.

"What was that?”. 

“I said no!” she screamed, and before he could realise what was going on she’d managed to pull herself through the horrific pain moving her legs caused to kick him straight in the groin. He didn’t anticipate her to fight back, as his first reaction was to curse out in agony and fall back, letting the switchblade slip from his fingers and onto the bed. She took the opportunity to roll out from underneath him, scrambling to throw herself off the bed and onto the floor. Her mind was racing, her gaze turning directly towards the door while she figured out her next step. If she’d been able to, she would have picked herself off the ground and ran towards the door, or broken a window, or even went back to grab the discarded blade to use against Olaf. Alas, the writhing pain from moving her legs so roughly returned quickly, incapacitating her from doing anything more than just crawling.

Violet thought that attacking Olaf would be able to buy her a few minutes at least so that she could get herself into a better position to defend herself, but seeing as she’d thrown herself onto the floor and was unable to properly dash away from him, those few minutes slipped away rather fast. Soon enough, she felt a sharp tug in the back of her head as Olaf snatched onto her hair and dragged her back up towards him. 

“You little brat. You just don’t learn, do you?” he hissed, forcing her to face him. He had the knife back at her throat, the blade poised directly down the middle so that she could feel the sharp edge faintly pierce her skin. “I’ll give you one last chance to apologise for your insolence, so if I were you I wouldn’t waste it” he barked. “What do you have to say for yourself, Violet?”.

Not allowing her fury-riddled glare to falter, she allowed her breath to hitch a tiny bit as she spat out the words she’d wanted to curse at him from the beginning. “I say fuck you”. 

His enraged scowl transformed into a look far more incensed and infuriated, almost to the point of being demented, hate practically seething through his eyes. She saw his lips move but she didn’t hear a word he said, as a moment later he swung his arm across her throat in one single movement, the only thing she was able to register being the feeling of something sharp piercing through her skin just as the world went black around her. 


	14. Epilogue

_“The body of missing teen Violet Baudelaire was discovered at Briny Beach early this morning. The girl, who was last seen on April 9 hours before a mysterious fire destroyed her entire home, and was subsequently reported missing by her surviving family, was found by a young man who has requested that he remain anonymous at this time, underneath the beach’s boardwalk amongst a large collection of rocks and piles of trash. No suspect has been identified during this time but we will keep viewers updated as the story develops”._

This was how most people first heard the news of Violet Baudelaire’s untimely death, blaring through their television screens as the top news story of the day, the devastating reality being broken to them by a pair of sharply dressed news anchors with the same amount of sympathy one would afford to a child that stubbed their toe. Most people watching wouldn’t care too much, only really watching the evening news for a lack of anything better to do, or for the overly neurotic and depressing purpose of “staying informed”. Some people watching may recognise the name, for various reasons, and might find themselves momentarily saddened by the shocking news. Maybe they’d passed Violet in the halls at school. Maybe they were vaguely acquainted with Beatrice and Bertrand. Maybe they were what one would describe as a “bleeding heart”, feeling sorrow for every tragedy that befell the world, whether it be to an individual or to an even larger majority.

With this said, everybody who knew Violet on a much more personal level was informed of this most recent development in a completely different way. For one, they were notified earlier, before any journalist could scramble off to rush out a story for the front page headline. And the news wasn’t delivered to them by a pair of news anchors - instead it came in the form of a phone call at 8:00 in the morning, only twenty minutes after everyone in the family had woken for breakfast.

And this way was how Klaus Baudelaire found out the devastating news that his sister was dead.

He kept running over the scene in his mind, for no other reason other than torturing himself with the unchangeability of his current reality. He wanted to somehow reach back, to a time before his entire world shattered beneath him, before he discovered that his sister had indeed been found, only not in the form that they all so desperately hoped she’d turn up to be. The smaller details of his memory amplified themselves to him, like the way his mother’s blueberry pancakes had tasted on his tongue, the volume of the telephone’s ring as it cut through the house, the scrape of Beatrice’s chair against wood as she’d gotten up to answer it. It seemed strange to hold onto such finer and inconsequential details of what had only happened hours before, but it helped him stay grounded. In a way, it was the only thing stopping him from devolving further into the spiral of despair that already threatened to claim him.

Klaus had already been pondering the previous day's events as this had all happened, his mind ticking over to figure out a new strategy, discerning what else could be done to locate Violet. It was such a huge disappointment for them to come so close to bringing her back, only to show up at Count Olaf’s house to find it vacant. And with no idea where they could have gone, they’d all felt a crashing sense of hopelessness, one that weighed heavily over them on the ride back home. Still, they weren’t giving up. It was just a minor hindrance, no more than that. It’s not like any of this was meant to be easy anyway. 

He’d been engrossed in his own thoughts, deep inside the library of his own mind, that he hadn’t thought much of the phone call that had taken his mother away from her place at the breakfast table. The most thought he had given to it was something along the lines of “I wonder who’s calling this early?”, and arriving to the conclusion that it was probably a telemarketer, or police calling to regale them with tales of their own incompetence. As it turned it, he was half right on one of those counts, but not in the way that he’d expected. 

That realisation had only come to him when a violent cry pierced through the air, alerting everyone that something was amiss. Between Klaus and Bertrand, it was hard to tell who was the first to react as they’d both sprinted out of their seats and into the front foyer, leaving the silverware to clatter against their plates, forgotten in the heat of the moment. When they arrived they saw Beatrice, sunken to her knees directly next to the phone, tears already flowing from her pretty brown eyes, marking small spots on the carpet below while she leaned forward, one hand grasped firmly around the phone’s receiver and the other pressed against her side, her knuckles turning white. There was a moment where the world was quiet, all three of them staring at each other while Monty came running in behind them. A horrible, sinking feeling started to form in him, and Klaus almost didn’t even want to know what was on the other end of that phone call. He could have ran away upstairs, saved himself the immediate confirmation of the news, but he would have had to find out eventually. There really was no use delaying the inevitable. 

His father had stepped forward, and asked in a panicked tone what happened. Beatrice looked up at all of them, her cheeks flushed red and her eyes pained with the sorrow of someone who had just lost everything. “Violet….she's dead. They found her body...she’s gone” she revealed, her voice quivering and breaking slightly on the last syllable. 

From there on, the entire world around him had stopped moving. It felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him and now he was falling, crying out into an empty void with nobody to hear him scream. Klaus wanted to open his mouth, to let out a warbling cry similar to the one his own mother had emitted just before, but he couldn’t. His shock probably only lasted a few seconds but it felt like a lifetime as he stood there, staring forward with wide eyes as the reality of what he just heard came tumbling down in front of him. His overactive mind had come to a complete standstill, focusing on those few specific words as if they were the only words he knew. _Violet is dead_.

The initial shock wore off soon after, and when his knees hit the ground, that was when the seal of his delayed reaction had been broken, causing him to choke out a sobbing cry, tears splattering against the lenses of his glasses. He didn’t take notice of anything around him, didn’t even look up to see what everyone else had been doing, finding the noise around him turning muffled as he disregarded it in its entirety. The only sounds he noticed were the ones he made himself, his own deafening sobs and shrieks as he hung his head forward and trained his eyes down to his own knees. All of a sudden he felt very small in the space around him, as if everything surrounding him was looming over his body. Just thinking back over those memories threatened to restart the waterworks of tears that he was holding back on. Rubbing his eyes roughly with his fist, he kept his head directed down at his lap and studied the seams of his blue denim jeans with such intensity that one could have considered it to be borderline comical. No matter what, he wasn’t going to fall apart again, at least, not right there. Once they reached their intended destination, he fully expected to lose himself in his own crushing despair yet again. 

They were on their way to the morgue now, though they weren’t going there to see a body necessarily. Rather, they were going to see photos of one. Even if it was almost proven beyond a shadow of doubt that the young woman’s body found at Briny Beach was indeed the corpse of Violet Baudelaire, the police had wanted them to come down to officially identify her, to finalise the entire matter. They’d explained to his mother over the phone that they were going to talk them over the details of the autopsy report with the chief medical examiner, and to prepare themselves for, well, what the police put pretty bluntly as “extraordinarily disturbing”. Those words were now etched into his memory permanently, allowing new worries of what exactly he was going to see or hear once they reached the morgue. Visiting the place that held the dead body of his dearly departed sister was already a sombre occasion, but they were also there to hear a full recount of everything the police found on her body, every physical mark that betrayed the horrors she was forced to endure in her 46 days of hell. 

He expected the experience to be like something out of a movie - they’d step in, being greeted by a morgue attendant, who would guide them over to the room where the bodies were kept. There, they’d lead them over to a table in the far corner of the room covered by a white sheet, only to dramatically peel it back and reveal the freshly killed corpse of his own older sister. Apparently, that wasn’t how the process of official identification went down: it was just some nonsense invented by Hollywood for drama. As his mother explained, what was going to happen instead was that the medical examiner would meet them out in the waiting room and take them off to the side, walking them over the full autopsy report and providing them with photographs of the body. His parents would give the official confirmation that it was Violet, and they’d begin discussion arrangements surrounding burial and potentially pursuing further leads as to who could have done such a terrible deed. Detective Hawkins was also meant to meet them there, for matters in regard to the pursuit of justice, although his thoughts didn’t linger much on that front. Everything had come crashing down around him so quickly - one night they were hot on Count Olaf’s trail, the next his sister was dead and found on the beach left to rot.

Originally neither of his parents wanted to take him to the morgue, trying to persuade him into staying back with Monty and Sunny. In their own words, no twelve year old boy should be forced to look at the deceased remains of his own sibling. He fought back against them, insisting that he could handle it and that he’d been too big a part of this whole mess to just leave him behind now, and not wanting to argue with him further they folded. 

Bertrand pulled the car into the almost barren parking lot of the county morgue: apparently Tuesday’s weren’t a prime time for people to visit, as there were only three cars in the lot including their own. Twisting the keys to the ignition off, his father stared forward with an air of despondent gloom surrounding him, staying completely still for the moment. Without another word, he lifted himself out of the driver's seat and slammed the door back into place, signalling for the rest of them to follow his lead. Klaus slid on out after them, hearing the small thud his sneakers made against the concrete pavement. Glancing over towards the dreary grey building, he thought it to be fitting for a morgue to look so eerily depressing. It wasn’t the sort of building you could decorate in rainbows and sunshine prints. 

A woman wearing a long white coat and black ballet flats stepped out of the building to greet them, her thin smile complemented by her weary eyes and strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. “You must be the Baudelaire’s. I’m Karmein Lestall, the Chief Medical Examiner of this county. Detective Hawkins hasn’t seemed to arrive yet so I’ll lead you all into my office so we can go over what we’ve found” she introduced, moving off to the side towards the door and waving them in behind her. “Sure, we’ll be right behind you” Bertrand mumbled after her.

She led them down a cold sterile corridor, the white walls and bright beams of light doing nothing to alleviate the apprehension and fear that plagued Klaus as he walked through the halls of the morgue. They passed by a manner of doors, with him wondering which of them led to where his sister was being held. He was almost grateful that they weren’t going to be put through some cinematic style dramatic reveal of the body, for if they had he would have almost certainly collapsed from the weight of emotions running through him. Seeing pictures of Violet’s defiled corpse wasn’t a huge step up from that, but it was something.

Karmein pushed forward onto a door towards the back of the building, opening to reveal a regular looking office space complete with a desk and set of simple white chairs dotted around the place. Gliding over to her desk, she gestured for them to make themselves comfortable on the seats surrounding them. Klaus slid himself onto one of the chairs, his body tense from anticipation, though a different kind from the one felt the previous day on the way to Count Olaf’s derelict dwellings. 

She rifled around through the leafs of paper on the desk, searching for something in particular to present to them. “There isn’t really a good place to start with all of this so we might as well jump into it head on. My assistants and I have conducted our initial autopsy and determined that the cause of death was a large slicing stab wound in the neck, most likely caused by a dagger of some sorts. I’ve taken the initiative of typing up a fully detailed report so I will walk you through of the discoveries we found. But first of all…” she trailed off, producing a series of photographs out from underneath a pile of papers on her desk and handing them off to Beatrice. “Is this your daughter, Violet Baudelaire?”. 

Beatrice looked down at the photographs and her breath caught in her throat, Klaus’ gaze following to study the small slips of paper. His reaction was the same as hers, his heart dipping down further into his chest the first glimpse he got of those fateful sets of photos.

What they contained was something that made him sick to his stomach in a violently visceral way. The girl depicted there was most definitely his sister, although there were a series of painful and frightening burns covering her face. Upon closer inspection, he could see that her eyelids had been burned too, evidently with some kind of scalding hot liquid. If that wasn’t enough to make his heart seize in his throat, the rest wasn’t a pretty picture either. Her white nightgown, once shimmering bright as moonlight was now dirtied and stained, bunched up together around her knees and half-obscuring the mangled burnt mess that was the skin on her legs. A large gash was spread across her neck, with dried remnants of blood staining the surrounding skin and the top of her nightgown. 

He knew what he was going to see was shocking. He knew it was going to be an affront to his eyes and senses. He thought he had adequately prepared himself to see the lifeless corpse of his own sister presented before him.

He was dead wrong.

Klaus’ breath started to hitch in his throat, coming out in small gasps as he fought with himself to contain his tears, not wanting to make a scene in front of everyone. Of course, he knew it was perfectly normal for him to have such a reaction, and he wasn’t attempting to push away his emotions entirely. Rather, he was trying to dilute them, restrict his reactions to only sobbing and light muffled cries instead of the piercing screams and shrieks of agony he wanted to indulge in. No, he’d save that for when they were back at home and he could fall right into his mother’s arms, cursing the world for the needless cruelty that had befallen his family.

Beatrice nodded in sorrow, tears already making their way down her rosy cheeks while she passed the photographs back to the medical examiner. “Yes...that, that is Violet” she confirmed, her voice wobbling in her throat with every word that she spoke. 

Karmein collected the photos back up again and nodded, her gaze wrought with sympathy towards their plight. “Alright. I’ll go over what else we found in our initial investigation, if that is ok with you?”.

Beatrice sighed, wiping tears away with the back of her hand. “Yes, it’s fine. It’ll hurt, but we need to know everything” she sniffed in reply. 

The medical examiner tilted her head forward in response and leaned behind herself to snatch up a piece of paper laid out on top of the desk before seating herself down in her office chair, positioning it forward to face them properly. Clearing her throat a bit, she began with her lengthy explanation of the autopsy. “We’ve determined that Violet was killed only a few hours before her body was discovered at Briny Beach, which could possibly be helpful in tracking down whoever did this. The injury to her neck was dealt swiftly enough that it killed her upon instant infliction, but we also found several other injuries of note scattered around her body, indicating of a degree of severe torture that had been imposed on her over a prolonged period of time” she recounted, reading directly off the page in front of her. All throughout this time Klaus had felt the sickening feeling in his stomach progress to a reaction even more disgusted and horrified than he was previously. Hearing of all the pain wreaked on his dear sister, everything she went through in her month of torture and captivity, made him want to scream out with anguished cries, and for what it was worth, he wanted to march right out of that office and over to wherever Count Olaf was hiding and full on murder the bastard. He’d done that to her. That awful man had done this to Violet. He already knew it to be the case, but it was confirmation that embittered revenge towards his parents wasn’t the only reason he had for doing such terrible things to his sister - it was merely a surface motive hiding something far more sinister and cruel. It was enough to coax a heavier wave of tears from his eyes, his reactions only being matched by the heart crushing despair shown on both his mother and fathers faces as they heard the coroner's report. 

Karmein stopped herself and looked up at them, taking note of their each individual reactions, offering a soft look of concern in return. “What I’m about to say could be potentially distressing for you to hear, so please prepare yourselves, and if any of you need to step out for a few moments I understand completely”.

“It’s fine. Keep going” Beatrice responded, her voice low and fraught with grief. 

She gave them all one last look of muted sympathy before continuing on with her explanation. “Ok, so, first off, I’ll address what you probably already gauged from the photographs. Violet’s face had suffered from severe burns, the worst of them being second degree. They were most plausibly caused by two different sources - the smaller and older ones had to have to come from a cigarette lighter to the best of my deduction, and the larger, more serious scalding ones from hot liquid, likely candle wax. These burns were imposed on most of her face, especially centering around the eyelids, though strangely enough there wasn’t any damage done to her actual eyeballs, only the lids. We also found bruises scattered across her body, pointing to serious blunt trauma inflicted by repeated beatings. There were also lingering remnants of what appears to be frostbite in her toes and fingers, though none of the tissue there was damaged too terribly. And of course, her legs were charred, as if they’d been set on fire”. She paused for a brief moment, pursing her lips as her eyes trailed along the lines of text written on her report. “There was also severe trauma to her vaginal area, a sign of repeated rape by penetration. We also found her to be pregnant at the time of her death” she disclosed finally.

From thereon the room was so silent you could hear a penny drop from miles away. One singular look of tragic shock passed between them at that very moment, despair threatening to overcome them completely. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been expecting to discover that Violet had been assaulted, as it had been festering at the back of their minds since her initial disappearance, but something about the confirmation of such information simply broke Klaus, and he couldn’t help but let out a small whimper as he doubled over and ran his hands through his hair, his mind replaying the exact words the coroner said to them. 

Everything that he’d ever read about happening to other girls, other women, every newspaper article detailing corpse’s being found rotting away in disused buildings or underneath bridges - those things had all happened to his own sister. She was gone, there was nothing any of them could do to bring her back, and the fact that her last days were spent in agony, being constantly violated by a depraved man made anger well up inside him. His grief mixed with fury, his desire to hunt down Count Olaf and enact justice swelling deep within him. How could somebody be that sick as to cause so much pain and suffering to another person?

He didn’t even bother looking up from his slump but he could tell exactly how his parents had taken the news: his mother had her head in her hands, sobbing into his father’s chest as he slung his arm around her in an attempt at a comforting gesture, though he was honestly so distraught himself that he wasn’t in any shape to offer support to another person. 

Right at the worst possible time, there was the distinct sound of a doorknob being turned and a door swinging open, admitting the aforementioned Detective Hawkins into the room. Klaus had never been formally introduced to the woman, as most of her conversations with Beatrice had taken place over the phone, so this was the first time ever meeting her. Instantly, he took note of her immaculately groomed brown hair, trailing down to the edges of her shoulders and lightly obscuring the zip line of her leather jacket. Her badge dangled from a lanyard around her neck, and she was holding a cup of coffee in her hand. “Sorry for the delay, I got held up with some paperwork at the station” she muttered, strutting right in and stopping beside the rest of them. Klaus looked up at her incredulously, silently fuming that someone could be so disrespectful and careless in their tact. Though really, did he expect any less at that point?

Karmein plastered on a bright and insincere smile for the detective, standing up off her seat to snatch up a piece of paper left behind on her desk. “Detective Hawkins, how nice of you to show up. Here’s a full copy of my autopsy report to be used in determining the perpetrator of this horrific crime” she prattled, to which the detective scooped up the file with her free hand and returned a weary and equally insincere grin. “Thanks. My team is already hard at work trying to uncover the person behind this entire mess. I gather you’ve already relayed the news?” she asked, gesturing vaguely in their direction. 

“Yes. I was just about to go over with Mr and Mrs Baudelaire their plans for burying Violet’s body”.

“Seems like all the important work has already been done. Well, if this report is as complete as you say, then I best be off again. It’s of utmost importance to our department that we uncover the perpetrator of this depraved and sickening crime” Detective Hawkins murmured. 

Klaus almost felt compelled to speak out, scream out something along the lines of “Count Olaf was the one who did this! It’s so obviously him!” but found that his mother was already one step ahead of him, glaring up towards the detective through her tear stricken eyes.“We know who did this. It was Count Olaf” Beatrice stated firmly. 

Detective Hawkins raised a single eyebrow at her, largely disregarding the family’s presence in the room until Beatrice had spoken up. “I thought we already ruled out Count Olaf as a potential suspect - we investigated him, remember?” she fired back, her face already showing disinterest in the conversation. 

“No, you didn’t. Two cops showed up at his front door and asked him a few standard questions before leaving. That’s not a full investigation. You should have handled the situation with more scrutiny” Beatrice snapped, seething at her words. 

“Mrs Baudelaire, with all due respect I think you should leave the actual detective work to the professionals. Just focus on setting up a memorial service and comforting your family”.

“With all due respect, Detective” she hissed, her cheeks blazing bright red against her porcelain white skin, fire igniting in her eyes the longer she stared the detective down. “You had multiple pieces of evidence indicating Count Olaf’s involvement, and still you refused to do your job and launch a full inquiry, instead wasting time in the Hinterlands when you should have been searching the city for my daughter. Because of you, Detective, my daughter is now dead and lying frozen somewhere in this godforsaken morgue!” she shouted, throwing any last shred of politeness to the wind and letting her fury overtake her.

“There’s no need for incivility, Mrs Baudelaire. I understand your frustration but these things happen - all we can do now is try to bring about justice for Violet” Detective Hawkins retorted, already turning towards the door to make her exit. “Now, if you’re done with throwing around half-baked accusations, I best be off. I offer my deepest and most sincere condolences for your loss”. And with that, she left, the sound of her boots disappearing down the hall as they all stared after her, completely lost in her lack of tact. Klaus wanted to leap up out of his seat and ask her how she dared say all that, how she was content with letting Violet become another victim to such an awful man, and how she deserved to be fired at the very least for her blatant incompetence. 

He glanced back over to where his mother was sitting and saw her eyes had glazed over entirely, still trained on the spot where the detective had stood just before. Bertrand still had his arm swung around her, a look of indignation descending across his face. None of them said a word, with Klaus moving his head down into his hands and running them back up through his hair, the frames of his glasses becoming foggy from his crying. He could hear the medical examiner moving around the room, talking about funeral arrangements and the like but he didn’t listen to a single word of what she was saying. His mind was focused on one thing only: the simple, sole, unchangeable and soul destroying fact that Violet Baudelaire was dead, her last moments had been spent in writhing and torturous pain, and she was never coming back to them. 

Nothing seemed real anymore. Nothing felt real. Sure, she still moved through life, living and breathing, hearing the voices of her loved ones, feeling the light black veil graze against her cheeks as she gazed to the floor. She still had an identity, she was still Beatrice Baudelaire. A former Volunteer. Developer of secret codes. An opera singer, an actress, a mother. 

Well, a mother to a dead girl now. 

Violet’s death was something that she had been expecting in some capacity. Some small part of her had always known that she was never to see her sweet daughter’s smile again, to never hear her laugh or cry or see her tie her hair up with that purple ribbon she adored. That didn’t negate any of the shock she had felt though when she’d picked up the phone to the Detective to hear the exact words spoken to her through the line: _“We found the body of a teenage girl at Briny Beach, and we’re almost certain it’s Violet. I’m very sorry to tell you this, Mrs Baudelaire, but your daughter is dead”._

It wasn’t like she’d never felt grief before. She’d lost many friends and comrades over the years - it was the sort of tragedy one would expect as a former Volunteer in a secret and elusive organisation. She could even remember once upon a time, faded in her mind as a distant memory, the death of her own two parents when she was just a small girl. The news burned itself into the back of her mind, repeating over for days on end. She’d tried to deny it. She’d tried to focus on her new position as a neophyte training under VFD. As the days turned to months turned to years, the sting of her loss hurt less, and she’d moved on.

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to move on from this though. 

They’d managed to organise the memorial service for Violet pretty quickly - after going over the plans with a funeral director and the coroner, everything had been set up within two days of the initial news breaking. Of course, the few family members she still had were instantly invited, including Monty and his assistant Gustav, as well as several of Violet’s closest friends from school. She’d hesitated over the names of former Volunteers and old friends from back in the day, but both her and Bertrand decided to extend the courtesy to them as well. So she invited all of the people who they’d still kept in touch with over the years - Josephine and her husband Ike, Jacquelyn, Larry and the Denouement triplets. It felt odd meeting up with them all again under such depressing circumstances. Who knows, maybe someone would have even a vague idea of where Olaf could have run off to.

She clenched her fist at the mere thought of that horrid man, anger already broiling inside of her just thinking of his sinister smile and sadistically insane eyes. She hated him. She despised him more than anything else on the planet. She detested him, loathed him, wanted nothing more than to tear him to shreds for what he did to Violet. He hadn’t made any unexpected reappearances, almost seeming to drop off the face of the Earth entirely after Violet’s death. Although, she had heard a few days ago from the paper that a motel on the edge of town was burnt to the ground, and something in her gut told her that Olaf had been involved. It might be beneficial to investigate that, though honestly, what was the point anymore? Chasing after him wasn’t going to bring Violet back from the dead.

Even so, she didn’t trust the police to enact any form of justice. Violet would end up as yet another unsolved mystery, her name and memory being forgotten by the time the next flavour of the month girl was kidnapped, raped and killed. She wasn’t one to ever be supportive of gratuitous violence, yet she found some sense of bloodlust to have been activated in her, longing for a way that she could make Olaf suffer the way he had with Violet. She alternated between wanting something slow and painful, or something fast and precise to get her message across. Either way, she knew one thing: she wanted that man dead.

Remembering what the coroner had said about Violet’s condition, she felt nauseated, sickened to her stomach thinking about what he’d done. He’d damaged her physically, he’d disfigured her horrifically, but he didn’t stop there. It was her worst nightmares come true - her daughter violated by her worst enemy, someone who she had enough history with to know he had no mercy. And to have ended up pregnant from his repeated assaults, why it only made the whole matter a hundred times worse than it already was. At that point in Violet’s captivity would death have been a mercy to her? She recalled the injuries she’d seen on her corpse, everything the coroner had explained gently to them in her report, and it pained her to know that her own child suffered that much at someone else’s hand, and she couldn’t stop herself from feeling that somehow it had been her fault, that she hadn’t jumped on it quick enough, and if things had gone just a slight bit differently, then Violet would still be alive and sitting with them back home right now, rather than lying in a casket to be buried six feet deep. 

They were all gathered around the place of burial, in one of the largest and most expensive cemeteries in the city. Beatrice grinded her hands against her dress, focusing on keeping her breaths even as she looked over to where Violet’s casket was, the knowledge that her daughter’s lifeless body was contained in that very box seeming so surreal to her. None of what was happening felt correct at all, everything only felt wrong. Violet shouldn’t be dead, there shouldn’t be a funeral, none of this should be happening at all. It’s always been said that a parents worst fear is to bury their child, and for the first time in her life Beatrice finally felt she understood what exactly it was like to lose one's own. 

She felt her husband’s hand close around hers, smoothing his fingers over her skin and casting a grief riddled gaze in her direction, her only response being to let out a low sigh and restrain her waterfall of tears from breaking free. Glancing over to where Klaus was sitting beside her, she noted his despondent demeanour and her heart broke a fraction of a bit more than it already had. Poor boy, he’d already gone through so much in those last few weeks. Everyone in the family had been through the mill, but Klaus was only twelve years old, and he’d had to face both the startling revelation of his parents being members of a secret organisation and his sister going missing all at once. She had never wanted any of her children to learn of VFD and to remain ignorant for the rest of their days but she always figured if they were to find out it would be in a much lighter scenario than the one that had come to pass. On top of all of that, he’d also learnt the truth about her and Bertrand, of their tainted nobility, and though he didn’t show it much she could still tell it hurt him. 

It was almost time for her to go up and say her piece for the eulogy, as Violet’s own mother and speaking on behalf of the rest of the family. She didn’t know if she could even really do it - there was so much she wanted to say, a million emotions running through her, and with so little time she felt it was a disservice to her daughter to only condense how much she meant to all of them down into a few sentences. Beatrice didn’t even have a clear idea of what she wanted to say: it was normally like her to write up a speech beforehand, to be planned and meticulous in her cohesion. This was different though, far, far unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Taking a shaky breath in, she stood up and stepped towards the closed casket, placing one foot in front of the other as she smoothed her hands over her dress, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to say. Looking back behind her to where the rows of guests were sitting, her eyes glanced over the different faces the crowd held, some from her past, some from her present. Her gaze lingered on Ernest for a few seconds longer than she should have - despite his former affiliations with the firestarter side she invited him alongside his brothers as a sort of gesture in thanks for helping out with Violet’s case. She saw his muted expression, subtle guilt that she supposed was directed at her. They hadn’t said a word to each other that afternoon yet she already knew all the things he wanted to say to her: the apologies for not reaching out sooner with his information, empathy towards both her and Bertrand for their loss, regret over everything that happened when VFD was still active. If she could she’d tell him not to hold too much guilt over it all, but she couldn’t even bring herself to do that.

Her breath trembled lightly as she held her head high to face the room of former Volunteers, friends and family, walking herself through the process of how she wanted the eulogy to go. Gently, her lips parted into a low sigh as she began her speech. “First of all, before I start, I’d like to give a quick word of appreciation to everyone who has gathered here with us today. As you’re all most likely aware of, this past month has been a trying time for my family, and every message of condolence and kind gesture has not gone unappreciated” she announced. “From the day of her birth, Violet Baudelaire was like a star that fell to Earth. She was clever, funny, incredibly kind, and had so much to give to the world. She dreamt of becoming a world class inventor, creating devices and gadgets for the betterment of all humanity. She had a ritual she would do, where every time she needed to focus or come up with a new idea she’d tie her hair back with a long purple ribbon that she kept tied around her left wrist. One time she created a grandfather clock that was able to toast bread. Another time she almost blew the front yard up with her failed automatic firework lighter”.

Memories came flooding back to her as she spoke, allowing her heart to both warm and ache at the recollection of her daughter's life, everything she wished for, everything she stood for as an intelligent young woman. Tears were trailing down her cheeks while her voice warbled, forcing herself to continue on. “Violet...she was my dream. She was a bright spark in an otherwise cruel and uncaring world, and everyday when I looked at her I thought to myself ‘I’ve never been more proud to call you my daughter’. She had so much life to live, and to see that cut short, in such a cruel and malicious way, it...it makes me hurt. Hurt, angry, confused, saddened, shocked - they’re all synonyms for the exact same thing. Every day, I wake up and I know that Violet is no longer here. My memories of her are, but she isn’t”. She had to pause, give herself space to breathe and collect herself. Beatrice knew that giving the eulogy wasn’t supposed to be easy, that grief and sorrow were par for the course. If it got too much for her, she knew she could step down and cut herself short. She didn’t want to do that though. She wanted to let the world see how much Violet meant to her, and to all of their family. “This hurt will never go away, I’m aware of that much, but there will come a day where I don’t feel it every minute, where the anger won’t be so hot, and the other feelings will fade and I’ll only be left with love for her”. 

Taking one brief look down at the casket, Beatrice choked on a small sob as she wrapped her speech up. “I hope your soul is at peace, my sweet little girl, and that you’ll be able to rest easy now that there is no more pain and suffering” she said, hastily making her way back to her seat as soon as she finished her sentence. She felt like she was going to collapse right there from the overwhelming stream of emotions rushing within her, the only thing keeping her grounded was Bertrand’s hands on her shoulder and the light tear stains glittering her dress. _Goodbye, Violet. It shouldn’t have had to be this way._

Everything passed in a blur for him after that. Klaus had been stuck in one place emotionally all day, a space where grief, fury and sadness all intersected with each other, so he didn’t notice time pass by him in the slightest. One minute he was getting dressed to attend Violet’s funeral, fastening his tie mechanically and looking at his reflection in the mirror trying not to cry, the next he was beside his entire family, holding Sunny as they watched her casket be buried in the ground below. There was a strange sort of disconnect from himself, as if he wasn’t in his own body and was simply watching the events unfold from afar, a bystander to his own life. Usually he would see that as a cause for concern but he didn’t care enough to rectify it - what was the point? Everything was broken and dead now, there was no use in anything if it didn’t bring his sister back.

He didn’t even know how much time had passed then. Had it been three hours or three days? He had vague recollections of waking up in the morning, forcing himself out of bed to go downstairs and grab onto whatever food he could get his hands on that wouldn’t require any sort of preparation or force him into sitting downstairs with his family. Usually that consisted of an apple or some other fruit, then he’d be back upstairs to his room under the covers, hiding from the world. Klaus couldn’t even be sure if any of that had even happened or if it was part of a dream, or a memory from weeks ago when he first entered a depressive slump. 

What he felt then was similar to that time, though it was far, far worse. The added knowledge of what Violet had gone through in her last days only brought him more pain, his brain periodically reminding him of everything the coroner had told them against his will. He hadn’t touched a single book since the news got out, and he’d only muttered passing words to the rest of his family. At some point his father had come in and sat with him on the bed, not saying anything to him and only sitting in silence. He remembered breaking down again, tears working their way down his already soaked cheeks and his cracked weary voice letting out a symphony of snivelling whimpers. After that...well, he didn’t know what happened next. He didn’t care to try to remember. 

The one thing he knew for sure was that it was currently late at night, probably past midnight, and he wasn’t going to sleep. He felt tired, drudged down by the weight of mourning that had covered him in those recent days, yet his mind refused to stay quiet, keeping him up with vivid flashbacks and echoes of distant voices that never faded. Even after fifty years he could swear right then and there that he would never let the memories of his sister fade, never letting them go to the cruel sands of time. He wanted to hold onto every last piece of her in any way he could: the way she laughed, how she’d rolled her eyes at him after he’d teased her about Quigley that night long ago, the way she’d silently curse under her breath when an invention messed up in a way that she thought others wouldn’t hear - all of those little details that made up Violet Baudelaire, things that he took for granted when seeing her everyday suddenly became treasured memories to him. It was funny how grief had a way of doing that. Some part of him worried that he hadn’t appreciated his big sister enough when she was around. Thinking back over the final time he ever saw her alive, Klaus wished he could have told her how much he loved and admired her, how amazing she was to have as an older sister. If he’d known then that he’d never see her again, he would have said all that and more.

Rolling over on his side, he poked his head out from under the covers and stared upwards to the ceiling and sighed, finding himself to be feeling a bit thirsty. If his brain wasn’t going to allow him to rest that night, then the very least he could do for himself was quench his thirst by grabbing a glass of water. Positioning himself upright with his elbows, he arose from the comfort of his bed and dipped his feet into the pair of slippers that were discarded next to him. Standing up slowly, he made his way over to the bedroom door, taking care to open it carefully so that he wouldn’t alert anyone who was asleep. After peeking out into the hall and determining nobody else was up, he gradually shuffled towards the stairs, the only noise in amongst the silence of the night being the tick of the screeching iguana clock at the top of the stairs. If he’d had the energy to, he would’ve almost laughed to himself for a second, thankful that the clock didn’t screech in the later hours of the night. That certainly wouldn’t have done anything to help his insomnia. 

As he began to descend down the flights of stairs, he spotted a faint, dim light radiating from the kitchen. He furrowed his brows and slowed his descent down so that he could properly focus on what he saw in front of him. Somebody was up after all, but who? Who would even be up at this hour? Taking a brief glimpse at the time on the clock upstairs, taking note of the position of the hands signifying it as being 1:33 AM, he drew himself further into the wall as he crept over to the kitchen. Keeping his breath even and in check, he ducked his head around the corner to see who was there.

It was his mother, sitting at the kitchen table with her hands placed in front of her, her hair still looking well-groomed and neat despite the late hour. She was in her nightwear, though it was clear that she hadn’t slept a wink. Her eyes were trained down in front of her, her figure still and unmoving, to where a polished silver handgun was laying on the table.

Klaus could feel his breath catch in his throat, his shoulders freezing up as he stared at her from the distance. His body glided away from the side of the door until he was standing directly in it, not caring to hide himself any longer. 

She must have noticed him by then, but her gaze did not divert from where it was fixated on the gun. No words passed between them as a heavy silence hung in the air, the space around him beginning to feel colder by the second. A million thoughts ran through his mind at that moment, still he could not vocalise a single one. The only thing he could do was move forward, possibly against his better judgement, to pull out a seat from the other end of the table and to join her in their time of ominous silence.

Beatrice still didn’t speak when he sat down, nor did she speak when his eyes trailed down to where the gun was laying. When she finally did look up at him, still, no words were spoken, but from her gaze alone it told him a thousand words. Her eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying, dark circles becoming bolder as the days had worn on, her already pale skin becoming a ghostly white under the dim light. There was an element of fierce determination in her eyes, a spark of hate and thirst for justice, the look of a woman who was tired, so very tired, of everything she had been put through. Something passed between them, a mutual understanding that both of them felt deep within their souls, despite their different feelings. They both sat like that for a few moments more, until Klaus picked himself up and trudged back up to his room, taking one final glance at his mother before leaving her there, with the handgun, to do what she needed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final scene inspired by Dr Ramsey
> 
> thank you all so much for sticking with me on this! kudos and comments brighten my day so leave some if you feel inclined <3


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